


Somnus Frater Mortis Est

by Lullabyes



Category: Blood+
Genre: Action & Romance, Alice in Wonderland References, Cute Ending, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Smut, Supernatural Elements, victorian vampire virgins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 11:14:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11057775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lullabyes/pseuds/Lullabyes
Summary: 'I hoped to spend time with you.' Alone. He doesn't say it, but she catches it. Post-series. Saya & Haji visit a carnival during the Obon festival, with unexpected—and deadly—surprises. Angst/action/smut.





	1. Somnambulist

 

 **Somnus Frater Mortis Est:** (Latin) Sleep is the Brother of Death.

* * *

_"Let me think: _was_ I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I'm not the same, the next question is 'Who in the world am I?' Ah, _that's_ the great puzzle!"_

_-_ Lewis Carroll, _"Alice's Adventures in Wonderland."_

* * *

He stands by the esplanade, watching over her.

It is a bright afternoon. The seaside wind is salty and brisk. Saya walks along the shore with her nieces, pale pink dress fluttering above her pretty legs. Her hair lifts off her shoulders, shiny in the sunlight. Haji basks in the musical prattle between her and her companions.

To all appearances: a perky schoolgirl, on a picnic with friends.

He knows better.

Three months have passed since Saya's Awakening. Diva is long-dead. Her Chevaliers' machinations have been thwarted. Red Shield serves more as a death-scythe now. With their efforts, the Chiropteran threat is being sliced down.

And Haji...

Ostensibly, he is still a Chevalier. A protector and chaperone for his Queen. But his _true_ purpose—as an instrument of battle—is over. He is more folderol than falchion now. Unused. Almost misplaced.

He supposes many soldiers, home from war, feel the same way. Without the guideline of duty to steer them, they find themselves cut adrift.

But gradually—very gradually—they adapt.

 _But what of soldiers who have known nothing_ but _war?_

He refers not to himself, but to _Saya_. As her oldest friend, he knows her too well. Outwardly, she seems all sugar and bubbles. A fizzy soda set in a multicolored bottle, eye-catching and enticing. But Haji often senses something darker swirling through her.

She is not the stubborn, high-spirited Saya he knew at the Zoo. Nor is she the sprightly Saya of 2006, so easy to bend or bruise. This Saya...is like a photocopy of those two people. Superimposed into one, yet faded.

"Hey. What're you doing?"

Kai steps up behind him. The sunlight catches the silver threads in his reddish hair. From most angles, he still resembles that hot-headed young man from thirty years ago. But his age radiates in the lines on the corners of his mouth, his crinkled eyes and weatherbeaten skin.

They'd walked together along the beach, a step behind Saya and the twins. Now, Kai settles by the stone stairs, while the girls splash along the lacy edge of the shore.

"Y'know, if you want, you can join 'em," Kai says. "You're not their bodyguard or something. I know Sora and Kaminari won't mind."

"It's fine."

He seldom wants to intrude on Saya's moments with her nieces. With them, she is the closest to her old self— _The Real Saya_ —than at any other time. But alone, she moves as if in a trance. Whenever he speaks to her, she offers an ethereal smile, as if seeing everything from a great height.

Often, Haji wonders if she is still in hibernation. Trapped between dreams and wakefulness. At times, he even catches her humming—an eerie lullaby from decades ago:

 _Sommeil, sommeil, viens viens viens_ _  
_Sommeil, sommeil, viens de quelque part..._ _

The melody flowers a hundred unwanted questions through him. Is it _sleep_ Saya truly desires? Or something more everlasting?

He shakes it off.

 _It will take her time to come to terms with her new life_.

 _She cannot settle into it all at once_.

Yet through it all, the greatest ache is how much he loves her. The feeling intensifies every hour. She has suffered, overcome so much. His deepest wish, now as then, is for her to be happy. To find peace.

_'Please, Saya. Live on.'_

His confession at the Met is still a fiery brand. Throughout the thirty years of her hibernation, he has jealously guarded that memory. What he'd said to her, how she'd answered. That kiss they'd shared, a flicker of brightness in an infinite murk. Lovesick, homesick, he has clutched to the tactile sensation of her lips on his, to the salt of her tears and that bittersweet aroma of blood and worn perfume.

A talisman to ward off despair.

He knows Saya remembers that night too. She hasn't said anything. But he senses it in their interactions. There is a sweet awkwardness to her now that there never was before. She rarely meets his eyes when they talk; she blushes whenever he touches her hand or smoothes back her hair. In unspoken agreement, he no longer stays in her room at night, either. Nor does she feed from him like during the war; Red Shield's blood-packs fulfill the role instead.

Haji would almost call the new arrangement a demotion. Except it is an ascension.

She makes it a point now to include him as much in conversations as her family. When they walk together, she tucks her hand shyly into his arm. At restaurants she always sits beside him. When they part at night, it's always with kisses, placed chastely on cheeks or foreheads or closed lips.

It is childlike, yet touching. In her own way, she is staking a claim on him.

Haji is flattered, but also stymied. Because as charming as Saya's attention is, it is but one dimension of what he truly desires. Her girlish reticence makes it clear that she is either unwilling, or not ready, for a physical relationship. Except since the war has ended, Haji's thoughts swirl to the subject with hungry frequency.

Indeed, he thinks about it far _more_ than when he was a teenager at the Zoo.

Alone each night, beyond the respite of sleep, it is always images of _Saya_ pinwheeling behind his eyes. Images of her pretty mouth and tousled hair, the line of her neck, her breasts and spread thighs. He wants to learn the heat of her skin, to lap his tongue over every curve, to know all her secret sounds and aromas. His fantasies of her are superheated, almost frighteningly so.

Shameful too, yet shameful that he is so ashamed of them.

Because the only emotion fuelling them is love.

_I have to give her time._

_There is so much she is not ready for._

_There can be no joy of being with her, if she is barely herself._

Certainly, their times together, with or without the promise of sex, are perfect. Everything from the snippets of laughter to the silences are an unlooked-for miracle. The war has hardened Haji for a different life; of struggle and solitude. This giddy new intimacy he and Saya are weaving together, how it intensifies in color and mood by the hour, is dizzying. Even in their brightest moments, part of him wants to hide, to covet his newfound bliss like a treasure-map.

He still cannot absorb this abundant tranquility—not just the privilege of being close to Saya—but the surrealism of knowing she _welcomes_ him beside her.

Still half-expects her to disappear, for a catastrophe to destroy everything.

But the less it happens, the more confident he grows.

Saya has survived this far. He is beginning to think she can survive anything. If it is too optimistic, he doesn't care.

He _will_ hope. Saya has taught him that much.

As if sensing his gaze, Saya glances at him. She smiles, sweet and uncertain. Haji manages a slight smile back.

Kai snorts

"What?" Haji asks.

"Nothing. Just...what do think?"

"Pardon?"

" 'Bout Saya, I mean."

"Saya?" He studies her. She and her nieces make their way to an ice-cream vendor. Watching Saya grin and pick a flavor from the cart, he cannot help smile again. "She is fine."

"You think so?" Kai scratches his head. "Well, yeah. I guess she's okay. The twins practically hero-worship her. And she always wants to help me around Omoro. Do little chores. If I didn't know better, I'd say she was fishing for an allowance."

Haji doesn't answer. But he intuits that Kai is building up to something.

"...Just, sometimes she doesn't seem completely here, y'know? Like she's sleepwalking or something."

So Kai has noticed too.

Haji watches the girls troop along the shore with their ice-creams. Saya takes a bite of her vanilla cone, light bouncing off the glittering sea into her face. Her gaze is faraway—until Kaminari (or is it Sora?), jerks her out of it with a pat on the shoulder.

Kai follows Haji's gaze. "Don't get me wrong. She's way better than she was before."

"Before?"

"After the Met's showdown. She'd be walking around, looking like she was high or something. I figured it was 'cause her Long Sleep was close. Then I realized...she just missed you."

This, from Kai, is startling. Although no longer resentful of Haji's presence, Kai isn't given to overt friendliness where the Chevalier is concerned. Especially on the subject of _Saya_.

Sensing Haji's confusion, Kai shrugs. "Just sayin'. She seems happier now. But I'm hoping you _improve_ that."

"What?"

Kai watches the sloshing water. "I haven't forgotten what you said to Saya, at the Met. I was right there, remember?"

"You needn't remind me."

A chuckle. " 'Guess not. But what I'm saying is, she snapped out of it that night, 'cause of what you told her."

"That is not what snapped her out of it."

"Oh yeah?"

Haji shakes his head. Part of him knows his petition to Saya would never have held weight, without Kai backing him up. Indeed, _he_ would never have had the nerve to confess his feelings, without Kai's... persistence.

"If she is happy now—if she was then—it is because of your family, Kai." He exhales. "I fear my own presence simply reminds her of the war."

Kai shakes his head. "You think that. But it's not true. If you'd seen Saya those last weeks, when she thought you were dead, you'd realize it. I never liked to admit it, but—she needs you. You kept her alive in the war. Now that it's over, you gotta keep her happy."

"I will do whatever I can to make her happy."

Kai kicks a piece of driftwood in the sand. "If that's true, why haven't you done anything yet?"

"What do you mean?"

"Don't give me that shit. I've spent years raising two forever-sixteen-year-old girls. I've learnt to keep my eyes peeled. And anyway. You stare at Saya like at an all-you-can-eat blood-buffet."

"Beg your pardon?"

"Oh, _c'mon_! Don't bother denying it. You were gawking at her right now!"

"I was keeping watch."

Kai waves a hand. "Yeah, yeah. You say potato, I say pervert. Except Saya's crazy about you. Even _I_ can tell."

Haji blinks. This is unexpected.

"Only," Kai shoots him a disgusted look, "You both seem to be _fossilized_ or something. Like dinosaurs. Hey—don't get me wrong. If Kami and Sora were as, um, _well-behaved_ as you two, I'd have saved myself plenty of sleepless nights when they were teens."

" 'Well-behaved'?" Haji frowns. "What are you implying?"

"I want to know what your—plans for Saya are. That's all."

"My plans?" The question is outlandish. Since the war, he has abandoned all personal plans for the sake of duty. Reliving his boyhood dreams is a redundant concept now.

"I have no plans. Except to do as Saya wishes."

Kai scowls. "If you'd done that, like at the Met, she'd be dead by now."

Haji hides a wince.

"I'm serious Haji. Get off your ass and _do_ something. I think Saya's waiting for the same thing. You can't—just expect her to make all the moves."

_All the moves?_

Haji shakes his head. "If I understand correctly, you are encouraging me to—?"

"I'm not _encouraging_ anything," Kai snaps. "Shit, I'm practically cutting my own tongue, saying this. But if you wanna _make Saya happy_ , as you put it, you better get cracking."

"How can you be so sure that—" Haji fumbles for words "—that my being with Saya will make her happier?"

"Wow. So _confident_."

"I am serious."

"Actually, I don't think your being with her'll make her happy. It's upto Saya to pull herself out of it. But at least she'll have somebody helping her. Kaminari and Sora'll always be there. But I won't. So I need to make sure—"

_That someone takes care of her._

Haji understands. It is an awkward topic, but the gist is identical to their talk at the Met. Kai is, in his blustering way, looking out for Saya.

" 'Course, at this rate, she'll start thinking you're not interested," Kai grumbles. "So what the fuck are you waiting for?"

"It is Saya's choice. She may not be ready for—"

"Christ. What d'you want? A gold engraved invitation? Listen. If you're worth your balls, you'll know what needs to be done. Or maybe you just need another punch in the face?"

Haji shakes his head.

 _I cannot believe_ Kai _is goading me into—_

Except he isn't. He is simply... trying to help.

Before Haji can speak, a sharp squeal echoes. One of the twins is crouched at the shore, clutching her ankle. Her sister and Saya are huddled around her.

Haji frowns. "Something is wrong with Kaminari."

Kai squints in the sunlight. "That's not Kami. That's _Sora_. Get their names right, for chrissakes." He raises his voice. "What's wrong?"

"I dunno." Sora winces. "I think I'm in pain."

"It was a jellyfish!" Kaminari shouts. "Quick! Someone pee on her!"

" _Ewww_! That's disgusting, Kami!"

"Oh, come on! Maybe Haji can do it!"

Kai grimaces. "You up for it, Haji?"

"No, thank you." Haji discreetly backtracks. "I will leave this to you."

He watches Kai shrug and make his way toward the twins. His eyes return to Saya. She still holds her dripping cone in one hand. Strands of hair falling around her face. Eyes and forehead shiny.

Beautiful, unbroken Saya. Free from the war.

But not free from herself, or the memories that haunt her.

_I want to help her get better._

_I want her to truly_ live _again._

But how exactly does one awaken a dreamy somnambulist?

 _Sommeil, sommeil, viens viens viens_ _  
_Sommeil, sommeil, viens de quelque part..._ _

* * *

In the deepening blue of afternoon, Saya leans against the kitchen counter.

Kami's upstairs, applying vinegar to Sora's stung ankle. (She refused to let anyone pee on her, despite Kai's insistences that it was the best remedy.) Saya hears their chatter, and Sora's muffled yelps. Kai is in the yard outside, stretched out on a rattan chair beneath the branches of a hibiscus tree. He is snoring, a magazine tented across his face. A breeze rustles the leaves; the air is rich with the scent of greenery.

Eyes closed, Saya breathes it in.

This time of the day, the sunrays slanted and orange, the cicadas chirping in the yard and time puddling to a standstill, is her favorite. Any other time, Saya seldom sees Okinawa through her own eyes. Instead, she surveys it through the far-off gaze of a traveler.

Someone who has seen the world, from New York to Russia, and recognizes the city for how pastoral it is.

Recognizes too, that despite its peaceful illusion, nothing is what it seems.

The war had shown her that. And once submerged in the truth, there was no resurfacing.

_I can't help that anymore._

_This is who I am now. I have to make peace with that._

But with the end of her century-long battle, large clusters of herself seem have eroded, leaving ghostly echoes behind.

Amid this placid normalcy, she doesn't know who she is anymore. The remembered pleasures of her life at Omoro, when Dad and Riku were alive, have become all discolored. She'd been so blind back then—blinder even than at the Zoo. Trapped in a dream-bubble she'd mistaken for reality

Whereas now...

Now, her dreams and reality are an indistinguishable blur.

Every night, she falls asleep to visions of slaughter. Sense-memory is overwhelming, far keener than when awake. She relives the adrenaline of battle, the bloody grotesquery of death. She becomes, again, the ruthless fighter in the war.

And every morning, the nightmares bleed into wakefulness. Even on her feet, going about her chores, _they_ are near. From the corner of her eye, she always senses them. Riku, her father. Dying members of Red Shield. Victims of the Vietnam massacre. Amshel, James, Karl, Solomon. The Sif.

And Diva.

One by one they materialize around her. Whispering in her ear, darting close but never touching her. Their empty eyes draining her of breath and warmth, leaving her as desiccated as they are.

Their presence is terrifying. As terrifying as this new chance she's been gifted—one whose lastingness she half-doubts. As terrifying as the thought of living on, when she ought to be dead.

She _should_ have died. She still can't bring herself to believe otherwise.

Except when her family is near.

Trembling, Saya shuts her eyes. Will the memories ever fade? Can she live on with their weight, be her old self again? Outside the kitchen door, the sunset illuminates the yard, outlining each blade of grass. She wants that light to fill her. Eradicate the sandstorm of pixilated images erupting through her mind.

Wake her up.

And for now...

For now, this moment, it works. Her entourage of specters is nowhere in sight. Riku's stool, where he always sits kicking his feet, blood dribbling from his neck, is empty. The usual wall where George leans, smiling and crumbling to shards, is bare. No Sif crouching in the corners, red cracks of the Thorn slashing their skins. No Diva pirouetting around Saya, humming that beautiful, eerie song in her ears.

Not the one she'd sung when Saya first stumbled upon her tower. But the one Saya had taught her, during their secret whispers between the locked door.

 _Sommeil, sommeil, viens viens viens_ _  
_Sommeil, sommeil, viens de quelque part..._ _

Saya shakes it off.

Dustmotes swirl in the sunlight. She absorbs their glitter, the scent of gardens in the air, the deepening blue of afternoon.

_If my whole life narrows to just this moment, this time of the day, it would be fine._

_I'd be able to wake up._

"Saya?"

She spins.

Haji is there. Sunshine outlines his form; making his skin poreless and milky. His sudden appearance should startle. But Saya is relieved. When the war was over, and she'd believed him dead, she'd missed him so much—his cool laconic presence. Now that he's back, the need to drink him in is a thirst. She is often wary of crowding him, lest he disappear like a mirage.

"What were you doing?" Haji asks.

"N-Nothing. Just having some alone-time."

He hesitates. "If you wish to be by yourself..."

" _No_." She reaches for him. Dimly aware of the hot flush on her cheeks, her moist palm against his cool dry one. He gives her fingers a light squeeze.

It is disorienting. Not just having Haji here, but being coupled with him. In the war, she'd never imagined them this way. Traveling together, yes. Being comrades during battles and mourning, of course.

But never, since the Zoo, has she visualized their lives juxtaposed as a _couple_. Her girlhood dreams of a three-dimensional lover were too shallow, too tepid, to measure with this superheated intimacy. Having it now both awes and terrifies her. Daily, Haji's devotion proves far more saturated than its surface. It unearths whole new depths of tenderness, everytime she thinks she's learnt its limits.

Yet their time together makes her feel as if she's accruing an enormous debt. His love is a precious, terrifying responsibility. It floods her with guilt, reminding her of how callously she misused him in the past; how blind she'd been to his feeings. But her own emotions for him, inarticulate and transfixing, expand by the hour. They cannot lie still unless he is near; she feels empty and fretful in his absence, a flower parched for water.

His presence has become her sole nourishment.

"Wh-What is it?" she asks. "Did you need something?"

Haji shakes his head. The clean golden light of the windows makes an umbra around his black curls. "I simply wanted to ask...?"

"What?"

Is it her imagination, or is he blushing? "In three days the _Obon_ festival will arrive. Sora—or was it Kaminari?—says there is going to be a carnival in Misato Park. Would you like to go see it?"

She freezes. " _Obon_?"

This, from Haji, is a non sequitur.

Her experiences with _Obon_ are limited to when George lived. Known as the Festival of Lanterns, _Obon_ was a time when the gates on the Other Side opened, allowing the spirits of the dead to visit the living. Fresh out of her Long Sleep, Saya has blurry recollections of people lighting _chonchin_ lanterns in their homes, of bright lights swaying around shrines and family tombs.

Most vivid, perhaps, was the smoky _senko_ floating through Omoro, and the continuous stream of friends George had entertained during that three day interval. Saya had been unnerved by the plethora of voices, the unfamiliar food and far-off drumbeats from the dances in the parks.

But nothing had terrified her like the fireworks.

Their color, their noise, had steeped her in icy sweat. She'd stayed huddled in her room the entire night, her body jerking whenever they erupted.

Realistically, she was probably reliving her carnage in Vietnam. The shrieks and gunfire _,_ the bright flares igniting the sky, the commingled stench of sweat and flames.

Or perhaps, true to _Obon's_ origin, the spirits of those she'd slaughtered were ambushing her.

She isn't sure.

But recalling that festival is chilling.

_The ones I've killed are with me all the time._

_I can't bear more reminders of them._

"Saya?"

"Hm—?"

Haji seems concerned. "Are you all right?"

"Ye-Yes."

"Would you like to go to the carnival?"

"I—" Her throat tightens. "I'm not sure."

"No?"

She shakes her head. "I don't—I don't think I want to get out there. Not to a carnival anyway. It's still—It feels like it's too soon for—"

She breaks off. Haji is watching her. Something in his eyes—cautious yet unconcealed. It takes her a moment to realize he's disappointed. But why would Haji be interested in a carnival?

In the next breath, guilt floods her.

"Oh."

He frowns. " 'Oh', what?"

"This ... you're getting bored, aren't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it hasn't been like us to stay so long in one spot. But all I've been doing nowadays is hanging near the beach or staying at home. It's bothering you, isn't it?"

"I never said that."

"I know. But you don't have to say it. I mean, we're both used to traveling a lot. To always _doing_ something. But these days, I've been acting like a sick old woman. Maybe you want—"

"Saya. I want nothing of the sort." Gently, he passes an arm around her. "I simply thought—you might prefer a change of scenery."

She leans into him, gaze shaded. "Is that all?"

"It is. And—" Again, that soft-eyed look. "I hoped to spend time with you."

 _Alone_.

He doesn't say it, but she catches it. Her blush deepens. "Really?"

He smiles, a different smile from his usual ones. Soft and private and meant exclusively for her. "Kaminari and Sora have been absorbing a great deal of your attention. It may seem cruel, but I was grateful Kami got stung by that jellyfish. At least their outing with you was cut short."

She sputters a laugh. " _Haji."_

"It is only the truth."

"That's so _mean_! And for the record, that was _Sora_ , not Kami. When're you going to learn to tell them apart?"

"Does it matter?"

"It does to _them_!" She tips her head back to study him. But seeing his pensive look, her smile fades. She sighs. "Haji. I-I know I've been acting strange lately. Things—have been strange between us. There's so much we've never really talked about. Back then, there was no time. But now..."

"We have time, Saya. If anything, we have time."

A darkness clouds her eyes. She looks away. "I know. But I'm still sorry I keep making you wait so long. I'm sorry—that I can never really reach a solid decision about you. About _us_. I-I _want_ to. I just—"

Haji cups her face in one hand. "There is no reason to rush into anything, Saya. Not after what you have endured."

"But that's exactly why I _should_ rush. In the war—everything was so temporary. We never knew when something good would be snatched away. Now that it's over—why should we suffer anymore? Why shouldn't we receive something good?"

"You have received it, Saya. You are with your family again."

"I know. Everything's perfect." She closes her eyes. "Except me."

"Saya." Haji's shock is a stellating star.

She exhales. "So much has happened, Haji. I'm not the same person I was when we started out. I don't see things the same way. But sometimes...I wish I did. I wish I was the Saya I'd been when I first came to Okinawa. Or the one at the Zoo. The one...you loved. She would've been happier here. She would've kept _you_ happier."

Haji' thumb touches her lips. She opens her eyes to regard him. His blue gaze is hypnotic.

"The Saya I love is right here," he says quietly. "She never left. She has changed with the war, and with everything that has happened. But she is still Saya. I think, perhaps she is drowsing right now. But with time, she will wake up. I will wait for her until she does."

His touch, the words, wake a deep simmering through her. Not just a physical simmering. But a need to move, to breathe and expel the darkness banked inside her. Her eyes burn. "Ha-Haji?"

"Yes?"

She presses her forehead against his chest. "Thank you. Thank you for—" She wants to say _For being so patient_. But her throat is clotted.

Instead, she says it a different way. Leans in on tiptoe, drawing his head down the few inches required to touch his mouth. His lips are deliciously cool on hers. The kiss resonates through her—a trancy breathlessness.

She is too naive to spin reference-points for their courtship. It is a fragile _lentissimo_ of another era _._ But _this_ —his kisses, his proximity—dissolves all doubt.

A touch so natural, so essential, that she wonders how she went for years without it.

Haji stoops closer, tilting his head. Traces his tongue along her lips, which part on his with a sigh. She trembles as the kiss deepens, and Haji trembles too. Slowly, he circles her closer, close enough to feel his thudding pulse. And she feels that inner darkness fading.

 _This_ , she thinks.

 _I want my life to narrow to_ this _moment._

_If it did, I'd stay awake forever._

Without breaking the kiss, Haji backs toward a kitchen chair. Settles into it, drawing her onto his knee. Against his coolness, her body gives off a shocking heat. He spreads his fingers through her hair, combing it away. Winds it, gentle but possessive, in a satiny mass around one hand, coaxing her head back to taste her mouth at a better angle. The other hand—wrapped in bandages—strokes down her arm, along her waist, but goes no further. She feels as if he is waiting for permission.

A moment's hesitation, and she guides his hand. There is a brief hitch in Haji's breathing. Very carefully, he lays his swathed claw over her breast, learning its shape. Thumbs the nipple through the thin layers of fabric, until it stands warm and friendly against his palm. Not a tease, but a test.

Seeing what she will permit.

Breath catching, Saya presses closer. Under his touch, her skin feels hotter, her breasts rounder. _She_ feels unlike herself; someone old yet brand-new. Time flowers in a racemose, during which she sees nothing beyond the blur of Haji's face, tastes nothing but his cool lips and sleek tongue as he feeds on her mouth, over and over. A couple of times, she almost works up the nerve to press her hand against the bulge in his trousers.

Then a voice says:

"Hel _lo_ , lovebirds."

Kaminari stands in the kitchen, smirking. Saya springs up.

"Wh-what're you doing?"

"Fetching more vinegar." Kami wags her eyebrows. "What're _you_ doing?"

"We were only talking—"

"Oh _really_? I didn't realize people talked with their tongues." A blink. "Oh wait. I guess they do."

Saya blushes. "Please. Can't you—?"

"I know. I know. Make myself scarce." Plucking a bottle of vinegar from the shelf, Kami winks. "Look. I'll leave if Haji can tell which one I am."

"Fine." Saya gives Haji a pointed look. But her Chevalier seems at a loss.

"You—" He hesitates. "You are Kaminari?"

Kami rolls her eyes. "Lucky guess. You just knew 'cause I'm not the one with the jellyfish sting."

"It is not that." Haji flails for excuses. "Your—hair is uglier."

" _Uglier_? What the hell's that mean?"

"Nothing. Just—"

"Just _what_?"

"Well, you have these garish blue streaks—"

" _Garish?_! Screw you! Pay a forfeit!"

"But—" Before the pair can react, Kami grabs Saya's arm and hauls her from the kitchen.

"C'mon, aunt Saya," she huffs. "We do not associate with people who find my hair _ugly_."

"It's not his fault. He just—" Twisting, Saya offers Haji a helpless look. "We—we'll talk later about the festival, Haji. But um—" she blushes. "I-I'd like to go."

Haji seems less bereft. "Would you?"

"Ye-es. And maybe we could—"

Too late. Kami has already tugged her off.

Moving away from Haji feels impossible. Saya's whole body churns in resistance. It is a raw physical sensation—like having your eyes torn from your skull. But accompanying that knowledge is a darker truth.

None of her cortege of ghosts has followed her. She cannot glimpse even a flicker of them. They all have dispersed, as if into the house's crannies.

Saya takes a breath.

_If they stay hidden—if they don't come out while I'm with Haji—I can survive that festival._

_I think… I could survive anything._

But part of her can still hear, as if under powerful sorcery, that old lullaby:

 _Sommeil, sommeil, viens viens viens_ _  
_Sommeil, sommeil, viens de quelque part..._ _

It sounds like an allurement. And an omen.


	2. Impossible

_"There's no use trying," Alice said. "One can't believe impossible things."_

_"I daresay you haven't had much practice," said the Queen. "When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast."_

-Lewis Carroll, "Through the Looking Glass."

* * *

Koza _en fête._

The carnival is a palette of living colors. Rows of lanterns hang in multicolored spheres. The floral patterns on the revelers' _yukatas_ are a swarm of butterflies. The warm air is suffused with the bready aroma of Okinawan _dango_ and the tangy sweetness of _tonkatsu_ sauces. Drumbeats and music boom, the night vibrating with laughter.

Although celebrated throughout Japan, _Obon's_ customs differ in Okinawa. In most of Japan, the holiday is typically celebrated each year from August 13th to 15th. For Okinawa, however, the festival dates correspond with the lunar calendar.

Divided into three days, the first, _Unke_ is referred to as the welcoming day. Families clean out their homes and place offerings on the _butsudan_ for the visiting ancestral spirits. In the evening, lanterns are lit at the entrances of houses as beacons to guide them home.

During the second day, _Nakanuhi_ , people meet with relatives to pay respects and exchange gifts. Haji imagines that, like at Christmas or Halloween in the West, stores make a smashing success in sales. The last day, _Ukui_ , marks when the visiting spirits are escorted back to their own realm. Families offer prayers, asking for forgiveness and protection from their departed ones. Paper money or _uchikabi_ is burnt so that the spirits do not return empty-handed to their own world.

In a majority of Japan, this final day is marked by _Toro Nagashi,_ a tradition in the spirits are sent off with candle-lit lanterns floated down rivers. But in Okinawa, it is done through the _Eisa_ , a festal prayer-dance to escort the ancestors to the afterlife.

Considering _Obon's_ somber origins, Haji is amazed by the merriment.

And aware too, why it might disturb Saya.

_Perhaps this was a bad idea._

He moves beside Saya through the pathway. People flow all around them. Stalls are vibrant with exotica, aromas wafting in sensory banners. Colorful triangles of apples and oranges, the fragrant bouquets of flowers, the rows of bottles and toys, all hold their curiosity.

But Haji's gaze is on _Saya_.

"Y'know," she licks her watermelon popsicle. "This was a good idea."

"Oh?"

"Mm. I never thought I'd do this. Usually I'd be moping at home. Thinking things... I shouldn't be thinking of. But at least this is a good distraction."

"Distraction?" Half-serious, he teases, "Are simply you indulging me on tonight's outing?"

"Of _course_ not! I wouldn't have eaten those tuna eyeballs just to _indulge_ you."

"You did not seem to find them objectionable."

"Actually, I didn't." She giggles. "They tasted pretty good. Kind of like caviar." She licks the dripping end of her popsicle. "It's not something I'd usually try. But with all the impossible changes in my life so far..."

"Those eyeballs are by far the strangest."

She sticks out her tongue.

Haji wants to tell her she looks like a hybrid cat-gargoyle when she does that. Instead he smiles. Why complain about her snatches of _joie de vivre?_ If she is happy, so is he.

A fact that, itself, is a novelty.

She seems... _happy_.

For the first and thousandth time, his eyes drink her in. Her dark hair swept up off her neck with a decorative comb, gleaming in the secondhand wattage of the lanterns. The flowery pink-and-lilac _yukata_ , its hem flowing around her ankles. Her twinkly eyes and the glowing tones of her skin, as if she is lit up from within.

So beautiful.

There was a time when he'd been forced to keep the thought, and the incredible yearning that came with it, to himself. But now he can whisper it in her ear. Can draw her in to feel the heated press of her body, kiss her until she is flushed with the same bottomless excitement suffusing him.

He doesn't think he will ever get used to it.

He doesn't want to.

After everything they've endured, this impossibility cannot be taken for granted.

Their hours together have been a psychedelic blur. They've explored the luminous shopfronts, sharing _takoyaki_ dumplings and scoops of shaved ice. They have played (unsuccessful) games of goldfish-scooping, watched the graceful parade of _Tii-udui_ dancers and applauded the clownish antics of the _chooginaa_ actors. At a ring-throwing game, Saya has won an elaborate Japanese _noh_ mask, and bagfuls of confetti-colored candy. Beneath a shadowy awning, they have shared kisses like of pair of teenagers, their sighs and murmurings blending with the quieter notes of the carnival music.

It is surreal, exhilarating. He has seldom seen Saya so absorbed, except by battle.

But there are no battles tonight. This is Saya laughing and frolicking, enjoying herself. Yet lost as she is in the revelry, she keeps him in the center of her attention. Such an unexpected, innocent attention; she is like a little girl at play rather than a woman with her lover.

Haji cannot say he minds. Her girlish delight is almost reassuring. He feared the war had crushed that sprightly facet of her nature. But it is still intact. Each passing hour coaxes it back out.

Haji wishes for more nights like this. More chances to reawaken _The Real Saya_.

Keep her forever.

Yet despite her lightness, she gives off a vibe, sporadic, of being not fully here. Sometimes, Haji thinks he catches her scanning the crowd with an anxious eye. She will be talking to him, laughing, then suddenly break off and drop her gaze. If he strains his ears, she seems to be humming sometimes. That same mysterious refrain:

_Sommeil, sommeil, viens viens viens_ _  
_ _Sommeil, sommeil, viens de quelque part..._

Finally, Haji asks, "Is something wrong?"

"Wha—?"

"You seem distracted. Should we sit down?"

"N-No." She shakes her head. "I was just—thinking about something. But that's no good. I shouldn't spoil our evening by _thinking_."

"That depends on what you are thinking of."

Although he can imagine what.

Saya sighs. "It doesn't matter. Tonight's been perfect, just as it is. I'm not going to let anything else in my mind. Right now, I just want to be a normal girl. With her—her normal ex-monster-killing boyfriend."

_Boyfriend?_

He hides a smile. "What would you like to do next?"

She glances around. Her eyes alight on a game-booth. A group of teenagers, laughing and jostling, aim oversized lasers at electronic bulls-eyes. A row of colorful plush kittens hang around a big sign:

2 Shots: Candy Bag!

4 Shots: Beigoma!

6 Shots: Stuffed Toy!

Haji watches the teenagers fire, one by one. Multicolored lights pop. Each of them misses the bulls-eye.

Saya huffs. "Amateurs. The target's barely fifteen feet off."

"Why don't you try?"

"Maybe I _should_." She smiles, showing her pretty white teeth. "You've been so sweet. I should win you something."

"What?"

Popsicle in mouth, Saya steps upto the booth. The enormous laser-gun is easily half her size. When she hefts it, the middle-aged vendor chuckles. "Maybe your friend would have better luck?" He points to Haji.

Saya merely grins, as if bursting with a wicked secret.

She aims for the bulls-eye. Haji knows that her trajectory is crystal-clear. A Chiropteran can see in perfect darkness. Eyes narrowed, Saya fires off a shot. Red lights flash. Cacophonous music signals that she's hit the target.

The vendor's jaw drops open. Five rapid bulls-eyes later, the stuffed kitten is hers. Preening, Saya presents it to Haji like a trophy. It would be ridiculously embarrassing, if her smile weren't so bright.

Haji regards the Kanji symbol on the kitten's belly.

" _Kichi,_ " Saya says. "Lucky. That's what it means."

"It is appropriate."

"You think so?"

He nods. He feels immeasurably lucky tonight. Saya's vivacity makes all the difference.

He smiles. "Perhaps I should win _you_ something?"

"Maybe later. Let's take a time-out. My feet are getting tired."

He follows her to a distant bench. Away from the crush, the air is cooler here. Tall lush trees shade the pathway, creating an aura of quiet secrecy. Settling side by side. Saya places her bag of goodies on the bench. She offers Haji her popsicle. But he bites a little off the top and hands it back.

"Go on," she says. "Have more."

He shakes his head. "I have never liked these things. You know that."

"Oh." Her eyes drop. "I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"Just—I guess you'd have enjoyed food, if you were human. If I hadn't made you a Chevalier. There's so many little things you can't appreciate anymore."

He tries on a smile. "Such as what? Arthritis and dementia?"

" _No_. I meant—y'know. Things like sleeping. Having good dreams. Being drunk for more than one measly hour." She sighs. "You can't even enjoy _sweets_ anymore."

"Saya, that is not true."

"No?"

"I never liked sweets as a boy. Don't you remember? Joel once gave us a lecture about cavities, and I thought he meant mouth cancer. Afterward, I never touched a chocolate if I could help it."

"Oh. Right." Laughing, she finishes her melted popsicle. "I remember. _God_ —I have to stop being so _mopey_. I can't just let every little reminder of the war upset me. I have to move past it."

"There is no stringent rule for recovery, Saya. You must do it at your own pace. I have had thirty years to make my peace with the war. But for you, it has barely been a few months. You cannot help it."

"Maybe so. But I _should_ help it. I don't want it to ruin this." Shyly, she fits both warm palms against his face, pulling him in. Her lips are sweet and cool, like the watermelon ice-lolly. Melting him inside.

When they break apart, she giggles.

"What is so funny?"

"Nothing. I just finally get what all the fuss is about. Going out someplace with a boy. Letting him gorge you on kisses and treats. It's...it's nice." Her tone is ambivalent, as if she has purchased goods that have proven costlier than expected.

"I suppose the experience varies, depending on whom you are with."

"I guess." She twines her fingers with his. "But I can't imagine doing this with anyone else. I-I never even thought we'd have this. I'm not sure you thought so, either. And you've waited—suffered—even more than me. For this _impossible_ thing."

"We could argue for hours over impossible things, Saya. But in the end, I would rather concentrate on where they have landed us."

Nodding, Saya threads her arms around his neck. Dots kisses along his cheekbone, the side of his mouth, before whispering his name. It is almost an endearment.

In that moment, Haji relives that first time he'd seen her—the black-haired imperious girl by the Zoo's fountain. Frightening and fascinating him at once, then establishing herself as the figurehead of all his future obsessions.

A mute wonder seeps through him.

_Here she is now._

_Here I am, finally with her._

He wants to tell her, but doesn't dare. Squeezes her fingers instead, absorbing the subtle melody of her pulse.

Ahead, on the raised platform, performers go through the airy motions of the _Eisa_ dance, to the rhythmic thumping of the _shime deeku_ drums and the bright strains of _sansin_. The singers are chanting a reverberant song Haji cannot translate.

"Mirukumunari," Saya murmurs.

"Pardon?"

"The song. It's the Mirukuminari. I guess they're being uber-traditional this year." A giggle. "Sora says that last year, there were a group of performers who did the _Eisa_ to "Who Let the Dogs Out?"

He has no idea what she means. But her smile is enchanting.

"I'd like to join the dance myself," she says. "But I'd probably trip over my _yukata_ like an idiot. These clothes aren't for me."

He shakes his head. "They suit you."

In terms of taste, he is a confirmed European. But even he appreciates the aesthetics of the demurely-elegant fabric on a pretty girl. The embroidered white _obi,_ the floral prints of pink and lavender azaleas on the skirt and sleeves, make her seem even more delicate than usual. A waft of springtime.

Saya smirks. "How come _you're_ not in a _yukata?"_

"I cannot pull it off. Japanese clothing looks on me like pajamas."

"Pajamas?" She giggles. "Come to think of it, you never liked _those_ , either. Even at the Zoo, you preferred those baggy trunks. The ones that looked like boxers." She taps her chin. "I think you might've been ahead of your time where underwear was concerned."

A faint smile. "Perhaps."

"Too bad I can't say the same for myself. If there's one thing I don't miss, it's having to wear seven different layers of clothing everyday."

"I would not know about that," Haji says innocently. "After all, half the pleasure of receiving a present is in unwrapping it."

Her cheeks flame. But she dares a minxy grin. "In that case, maybe I should've worn a ball-gown."

"Can that be arranged?"

She flushes, chewing her lip. Stops when she notices him staring.

Haji knows what his expression must seem to her. Half lit, half shadowed by the ambience. Eyes locked on hers with a hungry fixation he cannot repress. Just having her so close makes the air warmer, makes his surroundings seem more distant.

He wants to look away. Wants tonight to be lighthearted and innocent. All for _Saya_ , not about him.

"Y-You look so serious," she whispers.

He clears his throat. "Forgive me. I—"

Saya moves then, sliding across the bench, her hands coming up to frame his face again. Her mouth, small and hot, absorbs the words. A flare of heat shoots up through Haji. The same dazzling reaction, everytime, because this is _Saya_ kissing him. Not out of despair, or a need for comfort—but because she _wants_ him.

It is mind-bending.

Their arms tangle as he pulls her closer. Warm and scented, tasting of watermelon and dumplings. Redolent with _Life_. Her kiss goes through him in a sunburst, lighting him up. She sighs in the back of her throat, as his right hand strokes down her jaw and neck. Slowly, he traces the hollow of her throat, the line of her collarbone. Slips his hand, after the briefest hesitation, under the folds of her _yukata_. Her skin is warm and smooth under his cool fingers.

He wants to venture further, but it is a public place. He does not want to offend her.

Saya breaks the kiss. Lips against his ear, she whispers, "No one's watching."

An oblique invitation.

Carefully, he strokes her breasts, covered by her slip. Perfect little handfuls, warming his chilly palms. Her breath comes hot and soft against his ear. He pulls her nipples and takes her shaky sighs into his mouth. Her whole body radiates energy. Cheeks flushed; heart racing. It is as if there is a direct circuit between them; his own pulse thrums, echoing hers.

He wants to do this forever. Feast on her mouth and skin; devour her mindlessly. Make her all _his_.

Because she has made him hers. Catalyzed his life, so without her he is half-dead.

Saya breaks off to inhale. "Haji..."

"Hm?"

"W-we should go."

His lips trace along her ear. "Do you wish to?"

"No. But someone might come here—"

Gentlemanly etiquette dictates that he answer: _Yes. We should stop._ But her delicious warmth, the beat of her blood, overwhelms him. Tipping her chin up, he kisses her again. Her lips are plump and sweet, half-parted. She makes a startled sound, her scent simmering with excitement.

A secret message for him alone.

Music skirls. Plants rustle and exhale. Gradually, Haji grows less tentative. Still kissing her, he draws her onto his knee. A warm armful, silk and cotton. Making him feel at once possessive and greedy. Clasping her tighter, he slips a hand up under the _yukata's_ hem.

Dimly, he knows this is unwise. It is a crowded place. Anyone can stumble upon them. Considering the festival's sobering import, it might even be a tad disrespectful. But lust overcrowds logic. Beneath the dress, the layers of petticoat, his hand explores. Gliding up her knee, slipping along her thighs. Saya starts.

"Wait—!"

He freezes. "I-I am sorry."

"It's okay." Her trembling hand covers his. "But—I don't think y-you should—"

"Ssh." He kisses her hair, her eyes. "I will not do anything to hurt you, Saya."

"I-I know. But there's people out here. If anyone—"

The bench creaks as he shifts, away from the carnival. Saya cradled in his lap, the shadowy grove a dense intimate curtain. To passersby, they seem like just an embracing couple, glimpsed from behind. Gently, his hand slides up her leg. Her warm skin blooms into goosebumps. She shivers.

"Ssss!"

"What is it?"

"Your hands. They're c-cold."

He smiles. "I am sorry. I should have fed before we left." He lifts his palm to her cheek. Warms it against her radiant skin. Saya hesitates, then turns her head. Presses soft kisses to his palm, sending shivers through him.

This time, Haji knows she welcomes it when his fingers glide up the inside of her leg. Sheaves of bunched-up cloth. Smooth warm flesh. His hand slips higher, to the lacy fabric of her panties. Saya shivers, sinking against him. One arm around his shoulders; hot little face buried in his neck.

"H-Haji..."

He kisses her again. Lets her taste his patience, his yearning. His fingers lick across the cotton fabric, drawing tiny gasps from her. The maneuvering room is awkward; he cannot see what he is doing. But Saya's shiny eyes and glossy lips, her sawing gasps and the heat of her small squirming body, fill his sensorium in an erotic swirl.

In a few moments, he's pushed the panties aside. Stroking her with the whispering movements of his bare fingers. She is wet and vibrating. Intensely hot. The imperfect darkness makes everything hushed and illicit. He is aware of his hardness, caught—painfully—beneath her body. Embarrassing that his desire should be so obvious. But he is too lost to care.

He teases her, caressing, exploring. Just the heel of his palm and the tip of his slick index finger. Hanging onto his neck, Saya squirms. Her teeth are sunk into his collar; he feels her panting, trying not to cry out. A fantasy blossoms vivid; to make her spend for him, amidst the oblivious merriment.

A naughty secret, just between them.

But risks outweigh the thrill. It is too crowded. He wants her in a proper bed. Wants to memorize all her charms, every detail of her expressions, as she falls apart for him. As overheated and overwhelmed as he is, he knows when too far is far enough.

Diplomatically, he withdraws his hand. Saya whimpers in disappointment.

"Haji—wait—"

"Ssh." He daubs his fingers, wet with her, over her lips. Swallows her gasp on a hungry kiss. Tart and slick and so luscious. Shuddering, Saya presses against him. Haji feels the vibration of her needful moans. His blood leaps, his mind dissolves, and all he wants is to take her home, pull her clothes off and fall into her.

Gasping, they finally break, gulping in air. He smoothes her tangled hair.

"Saya, I—"

She pales. "Oh God."

"What is it?" Did he do something wrong? "What's the matter?"

Her eyes are pinpricks. He feels the terror crackling off her.

"Saya—?"

"I-I'm sorry! Something—something's here! I have to—"

" _Saya_!"

In a whirl of pink fabric, she rushes away.

Stunned, Haji watches her vanish amid the crowd. But before he can follow her, a piping voice says:

" _Elle veut se réveiller_."

It is like a cold pebble flung against his nape. Haji shivers, jerking around.

"What?"

The speaker is a little boy. He is dressed in a traditional happi-coat, a _noh_ mask strapped above his head. In the darkness, he regards Haji with a bright and fixed stare, like a cat.

Haji blinks. How did the boy get here? He did not hear anyone coming.

"What—are you doing here?"

" _Elle veut se réveiller_." The boy speaks in a half-whisper, as if sharing secrets. " _Laissez la tranquille_."

It is then that Haji realizes he is speaking French. His head swims with the strangeness of it. Where did this boy come from?

"Where are your parents? Are you here alone?"

" _N'ayez pas peur_. _Ca va bien se passer_."

Haji frowns. "What do you mean by that? How did you get here—?"

There is a sudden shrill noise.

_What on earth—?_

Saya's cellphone. Tucked in the bag she left on the bench. Haji hesitates, then pulls it out, turning away from the child.

"Yes?"

"Hey, Saya?" Kai's voice is half-lost in skirling music. "You there?"

"She just left." Haji senses the anxiety in Kai's tone. "What is wrong?"

"Who is this? Haji? Shit—where's _Saya_?"

"Somewhere in the park. What is it?"

"Haji, we got a problem. You need to find Saya."

"Find Saya?"

"Look. One of Red Shield' vehicles was in Koza. Shipping Chiropteran test-subjects to a containment lab. But there was an accident of some kind—there's no time to go into the details now. Long story short, the Chiropterans got loose. There were three in all."

Haji's blood runs cold. "Chiropterans? Impossible."

"Oh yeah?"

"Saya or I would be able to sense—" He breaks off.

_Oh God._

Is that why Saya fled? Had she intuited danger in the park?

"Do you have any idea where the Chiropterans are?" he asks.

"Not yet. But given past cases, we know where they're _likely_ to go."

Understanding crashes. "Saya."

" _Bingo_. Find Saya, wherever she's at. Tell her she needs to—Hey, Haji? Hello?"

The phone clicks shut. Pocketing it quickly, Haji offers the child a half-glance. "You should not be out here alone. Go find your parents or—"

He breaks off. The grove's sudden emptiness sends a chill to his fingers' ends.

The child is gone.

But in the shadows, a black cat slithers away.

* * *

The carnival is alive with phantoms.

She sees them crouched in shadows, eyes pale and eerie. Sees them standing under the lanterns, spilt blood glistening. Sees them playing hide-and-seek between the revelers, their inside spilling out, their moth-eaten clothes fluttering.

Surrounding her.

She has no idea where they've come from. No idea what they want.

The entire evening, she was free of them. Her mind was buoyant, sailing through the moment. The ugly memories had floated nearby. But she'd refused to let them drown her.

But now...

Now a door somewhere flies off its hinges. All the ghosts resurface, floating up vivid and distinct out of the blackness.

And she is _there._ Caught in a cesspool of memories she yearns to erase. Palm trees, distorted faces, skyward flares, splatters of blood. She hears the barrage of gunfire, the shrieks and sobbing. Air stinking of fire and sweat, damp soil, an amalgam of chemicals, an undertide of blood and shit.

And Haji's wan face. Pain glowing in his eyes.

_Saya... Don't you recognize me?_

A dazzling flash. She is in a stone corridor. A hall, cobbled floors, walls luxuriant with blue roses. Sunlight glowing from the tall windows. Her footsteps echoing.

Sturdy oak door. A key fitted into a lock. Forbidden evil unleashed.

_Sommeil, sommeil, viens viens viens_ _  
_ _Sommeil, sommeil, viens de quelque part..._

Memory slices away like paper, tatters flapping.

Wincing, Saya stumbles through the crowd. The sensation of those days and nights in the war erupts through her. Her head pounds as if about to explode. Swaying, she covers her eyes.

_Oh God._

So much bloodshed. So much ugliness and death.

Another flash—hot and prickling. There are elegant ballrooms, a crowded dancefloor, everyone in gowns and tuxedos. Solomon approaching in his white suit. He catches her hand, swings her in. Awkward at first, but then they are gliding like swans. Perfect synchronization. Both trading smiles—his soft and pleased, hers full of shy delight.

_I can't believe this is your first time..._

White lights strobe behind her eyes. She shies from scissoring images—Riku lying nude and stone-dead on the floor. Joel's corpse hanging from Diva's bloody jaws. George crystallizing in frantic spasms. Red Shield's ship igniting into flames. A wild miasma of sensation—intensifying, overlapping, shattering.

All different, all synchronic, popping and flashing over and over.

She tries to evade the pain. But the images are _inside_ her, playing in a sickening film reel.

_Stop! Please stop!_

Bumping and staggering, avoiding peoples' stares, Saya races from the carnival. She wants to crawl and hide. Dissolve someplace dark.

Free of _them_.

She throws herself down a pathway. Stumbles, legs caught in her _yukata_ , through high weeds. At length, she reaches a lonely spot. In the background, the carnival lanterns are glowing blurs, the music tinny and indistinct.

Panting, Saya leans on her knees. Her spine still tingles with that awful premonition of something enormous chasing her.

_It's okay. It's okay._

Forcing her breathing to slow, she straightens. Tall trees surround her, rustling in the breeze. The air is warm with the pungency of mud. The bushes give off a _chirr chirr chirr_ of insects.

Exhaling, Saya rubs her eyes. Sweat runs hot and ticklish down her back.

_I'm safe. Nothing's out there._

_It's all in my mind._

Those ghosts aren't real. They are beyond all reach. Miles and decades away.

Tears blur her eyes.

_But then why...?_

_Why do I keep seeing them?_

She fights for air, sobs tightening her throat. In the sky, the stars are a twinkling field. She stares at them as if transfixed. Dimly, her skin still races to Haji's caresses. She is energized and brimming, absorbing her own disappointment.

She wishes she hadn't taken off. But in the midst of kissing Haji, she'd been seized by such an awful terror.

As if someone— _something_ —was watching her.

Ready to attack.

_A Chiropteran?_

It is impossible. She inhales the warm dark air, clearing her mind. Focuses on that distinct _zing_ in her blood.

On watch for predators.

A tangy breeze kicks up, stirring the treetops, crackling the leaves against her legs. Her hair, damp with sweat, falls from its updo, fluttering around her face.

And she hears them.

 _Roars_.

Her eyes snap open.

The sound—dreadful and familiar—is like an icy blade slicing down her spine. Her skin breaks out in goosebumps.

_It can't be._

There are no Chiropterans inOkinawa. Red Shield's reports confirmed it.

Except she can _hear_ them. The guttural roars she'd heard every night in the war. Their recollection brings everything back. The glowing yellow eyes. The riptide of blood and spume. The creature's paralyzed bodies as she drove her sword home.

_But how can they be here?_

_It's impossible._

Suddenly, her sea of ghostly specters return. Cold hands brushing her clothes; cold eyes traipsing her face. Breathless, amorphous, dancing around her one by one. She hears their collective chants.

' _Nothing is impossible, Saya. Haven't we've proven that enough?'_

_'The only impossibility is escaping us.'_

She squeezes her eyes shut.

_No._

_Please stop._

A branch snaps behind her.

She whirls.

It is a black cat. It pads through the weeds, bright-eyed and _mrrrow_ ing. In the gloom, its eyes are like yellow marbles.

Relief floods Saya. For a moment she is delirious with it.

Managing a smile, she crouches low. "Pssst? H-Here kitty."

She half-expects the cat to bolt, as all animals do. But it _meows_ , fur sleek and glossy in the moonlight. Graceful, sinuous, it circles the area. Saya feels almost as if it is watching her.

"Yoohoo? Kitty? Come here."

Another _meow_. The cat's tail rustles among the reeds like a black snake. The rest of it is perfectly still. The eyes glow; liquid amber.

Bit by bit, Saya grows afraid. Is the cat even real? Maybe it is another ghost. An emissary of one of her victims. She has never seen any like this—they've all shown themselves to her—shown her their gaping mouths, their maggot-soaked flesh, their dripping blood and white eyes.

But what else could it be?

" _Voir au delà des apparences, Saya_."

She jerks as if whipped. Her eyes dart from side to side. But she cannot see who spoke.

"Who—who's there?"

Silence.

"Who's out there? Come out!"

Whispering leaves. The _chig chig_ of insects.

Swallowing, Saya returns her eyes to the cat. But space is empty, the reeds undisturbed.

_What...?_

Spots dance fore her eyes. Her breath hitches, failing her. She thinks she might scream, and it would be a loud _welcome_ scream. An outlet for tonight's grotesque _impossibilities_.

Then, through the blackness, she makes out a bulky shape. It crawls, on all fours, through the tall trees. Large. Dense. Fetid.

She sees the eyes glow.

_Oh God._

A surreal familiarity climbs up her spine. That is no cat-phantom. It is too big, too solid. A physical manifestation of all the ghosts, who have vanished to stare collectively at her through its eerie red eyes.

Thanatos incarnate.

Saya's blood runs cold.

It is only when Chiropteran lunges that she realizes:

_I don't have my sword._


	3. Staccato

_"Now, I give you fair warning," shouted the Queen, stamping on the ground as she spoke; "either you or your head must be off, and that in about half no time! Take your choice!"_

* * *

Haji's heart pounds—a staccato _thud thud thud_. He races in a bluish haze through the carnival. Scenery blends together; indistinguishable. His senses are locked on only one thing:

_Saya._

He cannot see her anywhere. Cannot sense her. The crowd's clamor makes it difficult, if not impossible. But his own panic makes it doubly maddening.

_She is unarmed._

_If anything should happen—_

"Haji? Hey!"

He skids to a halt.

Diva's twins emerge from the crowd. Both are clad in scandalously-short red _yuka_ _tas._ Long foam-wrapped objects are strapped to their backs. It takes him a moment to realize they are swords.

"What's going on?" Sora (or Kami?) asks. "Where's Saya?"

"I do not know. I cannot find her."

" _Can't find her_? What kind of creepy-obsessive-stalker-guy are you? I thought this whole trip was so you two could get all c _om_ fy-c _oz_ y together."

"She disappeared ten minutes ago."

"How'd you lose her in the first place? Were you groping her so much she ditched you?"

Haji doesn't dignify that with a response.

"We must locate her quickly. She is without a weapon."

"That's all right! We aren't!" Sora(?) tosses an extra wrapped bundle at him.

Caching it, Haji tears off the layers to reveal Saya's familiar criss-crossed hilt. The red stone glitters madly in the lanterns. Just the sight of it—the heft and weight of the sword—unlatches a thousand memories. Of battles and carnage. Of bloodstains from both the owner and the victims.

He shakes it off.

_Not now._

_There is too much else to worry about._

"Has Red Shield dispatched operatives to kill the Chiropterans?"

"That'd be us," Kami says. "But counting you and Saya, it makes _four_."

"We've also sent word to the authorities," Sora adds. "They're gonna have the carnival closed. We can't risk any civilian casualties."

"In that case, we must find Saya," Haji says. "Wherever she is, the Chiropterans cannot be far behind."

"Or, by proxy, a trail of screams and intestines."

"Let us hustle before it goes that far."

" _Hustle_?" Kami guffaws. "Holy shit! Haji said _hustle_!"

Haji opens his mouth to speak. But at a brightly-lit kiosk ahead, he spots something.

That little boy.

From Haji's vantage, he sees the _noh_ mask, strapped upside-down to the boy's dark head. It is an elaborately painted cat-face. The boy touches the colorful candies at the kiosk, curious, round-eyed. The man at the stall seems completely unaware of the unaccompanied child peering at his display.

As if...

_As if the boy is not real._

As soon as the chilling idea enters Haji's mind, the boy turns. Amid the bright lanterns and milling people, his eyes meet Haji's.

Gravely, he points to the left.

" _Là-bas_."

Haji half-glances in the indicated direction. A sudden _scream_ pierces his ultrasensitive ears.

Sartled, he and the twins turn.

Over the stridulating melodies: cries for help. And overlapping them, a familiar roar.

 _Chiropterans_.

"This way," Haji says. "Perhaps Saya is close."

In lightning-blue flashes, the trio exits. Haji spares one last glance behind him.

But the boy has disappeared.

* * *

The Chiropteran resembles the one from Saya's old high-school.

Its body is enormous: bristly and wide-shouldered. Thick muscular arms. Huge dragging knuckles. Between the pointed batlike ears, its eyes are red and demonic. Spittle drips off needle-like teeth, the snout twisted in a feral grin.

A bloodthirsty monster.

Saya's whole body freezes. It is a combination of shock and denial. Icy fingers grip her stomach. Cold sweat breaks across her skin. Her surroundings spin like a carousel.

The Chiropteran is tense, coiled in an attack posture. Sinewy hindlegs bent. Jaws snapping. Saliva flows in slippery ropes from its mouth.

Saya thinks: _What is it doing here?_

Red Shield's reports stated there were no Chiropterans in the area. Was this an oversight? Or has the creature escaped from somewhere? She heard intel of Red Shield's vehicles passing through the area.

Is this Chiropteran connected to it?

Saya barely hears the whistle of a swiping claw. Reacting fast, she ducks. Another blow _whooshes_ above her head. She spins around—just in time for the Chiropteran's forearm to catch her brutally across the chest.

 _Thud_.

The muddy grass rushes to meet her. Wincing, she manages to roll clear of the Chiropteran's swinging fist. The creature stands straight on its hindlegs, towering over her—a ferocious goliath.

Adrenaline floods Saya's system.

_Weapon._

_I need a weapon._

Instinctively, she kicks out. Her foot strikes the creature's leg—not damaging, but accurate. The Chiropteran grunts; caught off-guard by its feisty prey. Jaws snapping, it rushes at her again.

Reflexes take over. Hastily, Saya somersaults away, just as the Chiropteran pounces on the spot she lay in. Mud flies everywhere. Panting, Saya leaps to her feet. Her eyes dart across the area. With her sword, she could've decapitated the creature instantly. But she is bare-handed.

She must improvise.

Circling her opponent, she scans the tall weeds. Hoping to find a broken bottle. A metal pipe. _Anything_. Deep inside, she can feel that familiar simmer of power. The urge to slash, attack, defeat. Her own fears are secondary. She must kill this creature. It cannot be allowed to escape.

_If it finds a way into the carnival—!_

The Chiropteran slavers and growls. Half menacing, half challenging. Saya feints to the left, just as it leaps for her again. She hears the enormous splatter of mud. Whirling, she searches for a new opening—

_Wham._

The Chiropteran's shoulder slams against her, full-on. The impact lifts Saya off her feet. Flying back, she hits a tree nine feet off. Pain explodes through her body. Grunting, she slides on her knees to the ground.

Fangs bared, the Chiropteran approaches. She can smell its foul odor of salty blood and rotting meat. The smell unleashes a sickening barrage of memories. Every grisly, gore-drenched millisecond of the war. How she'd struggled, suffered, bled. Praying for a second chance.

Saya's eyes narrow. Glowing red.

_I'm not going to lose._

_I won't let this monster win._

In a blink, she charges for the Chiropteran. Parrying its swinging claws, she darts to the right. Aims a crippling flurry of kicks to its side. Her _geta_ rebounds off leathery skin. The Chiropteran lurches, off-balance. Saya seizes the chance to swing her leg, scythelike, across its face. There is a brutal _crunch._ Three fangs crack.

Grunting, the creature shakes its head. Snarls in fury when Saya's next blow hits it squarely in the eye. Rolling clear of its retaliatory claws, Saya crouches among the weeds. From the corner of her eye, she sees a bright twinkle.

Shards of glass.

They lie in the mud, five feet away. Sharp. Shining.

Saya doesn't think twice. She scrambles for the shards.

At the same time, the Chiropteran swoops.

Saya's fingers close on the cold glass. Whirling, she flings the first shard—like a dart—into the charging Chiropteran's eye.

_Thuck._

A disgusting splash of red jelly. Howling, the Chiropteran jerks back. Saya wastes no time. In vicious succession, the shards arrow into the creature's tough flesh. Blood bursts from each wound. The Chiropteran hisses in agony.

Hefting the largest shard, Saya leaps forward.

The jagged end sinks into the creature's belly. Warm blood splatters Saya's clothes and face. She's already cut her palm on the shard. Her own blood runs down the glass, painting it glossy red. But the Chiropteran doesn't crystallize.

Saya's eyes widen.

_Not deep enough._

Roaring, the Chiropteran flails dagger-sharp claws in every direction. One blow slices across Saya's _yukata_ , leaving red furrows in pink fabric. The other swipes at her face, cutting a red line down her cheekbone.

Saya gasps, leaping back. The wounds are excruciating. Blood seeps across her torn clothes. More trickles down her cheek. Wiping it off, she backs away, searching for an escape route. The Chiropteran is strong, but not spry. Maybe she can lure it away.

Somewhere with better weapons.

Fangs gnashing, the Chiropteran dives again. Saya ducks, parries, feints. But the creature keeps slashing at her. It is hard to stay on her feet. Calculating, dancing around the blows, Saya catches the creature in the eye with a snapping fist. The beast _roars_. The punch is savage enough to rupture its eye, strings of blood dripping everywhere.

Backtracking, Saya catches her breath. The Chiropteran's unhurt eye meets hers. Blazing with rage

And she makes her choice.

_If it can't beat me, let's see if it can catch me._

In a flash, Saya takes off among the trees.

The Chiropteran chases after.

* * *

Haji and twins locate the screams.

Three security guards near dark thicket of trees. A pair of Chiropterans surround them. Fangs dripping saliva. Eyes yellow and ghoulish. One guard is screaming hysterically, arms waving. The other two are frozen. In shock.

Before Haji's eyes, a Chiropteran lunges for the noisy guard. Its claws slash vicious lines across his chest. Blood erupts. Howling, the guard topples back, Chiropteran on top. Haji hears the wet sound of shredding viscera, and the man's ear-splitting screams.

" _Shit_." Kami whips her sword out. "Why do they always go for the Harmless Bystander types?"

"At least _they're_ not the winged types," Sora says. "I _hate_ those."

Simultaneously, the two Queens lunge. Long black hair and red fabric flutters behind them. It is like watching a ballet of lightning.

Perfect grace. Electrifying power.

Swords at hand, they attack the feeding Chiropteran. Sora's sword glints in a silver arc, slicing through the creature's arm. Meanwhile, Kami's blade sails upward, chopping through the creature's throat. Blood fountains. With ruthless unity, the two girls cut the Chiropteran to chunks.

Haji barely spares them a glance. His body is already in motion, swooping for the second Chiropteran. His cross-shaped daggers launch in a glittering hailstorm. Each blade strikes the Chiropteran's hide, seeping bloody threads. His opponent roars, swinging away from the terrified guards. Its snout is wrinkled in a salivating grimace.

Behind the creature, the two guards goggle.

"Get out of here," Haji orders.

Nodding jerkily, the men take off.

The Chiropteran barely notices. Its eyes are fixed on Haji. Needle-like teeth protrude from the bony snout. It rears on its hindlegs, the bloody claws of its forearms scraping the floor.

Exuding bloodlust.

A sense of deja vu strikes Haji. So many battles fought with these creatures. Yet so much has changed. The war's urgency is more a crackle than conflagration now. His two allies—making short work of their quarry—are Diva's daughters. Offspring of Saya's mortal enemy. Yet the arrangement seems so natural.

Upside-down, yet perfect.

Music skirls from the distant carnival as he dives. His snapping kick knocks the Chiropteran's two front teeth out. The creature yelps, spraying spittle and blood. Its serrated claws swipe for Haji's head. He ducks, pivoting to aim a second kick, and a third. Each sharp blow is punctuated by a _crunch_ of splintering bones.

He is not above playing with his prey. The familiar flex and burn of muscle, the headrush of adrenaline, is an old addiction. But his top priority is to incapacitate the enemy.

Find _Saya_.

They fight among the overlapping shadows. Sparks flashing. Claws clanging against claws. The Chiropteran charges at Haji, swift and immense as a hurtling bullet train. Its jaws snap three inches from his face. Haji dodges, feeling the hot fetid gusts from the creature's breath. Bandages unraveling, he slashes with his Chiropteran claw.

The blow catches his opponent across the snout. A thin line of blood oozes. Hissing in fury, the Chiropteran ripostes with a vicious backhand. Haji ducks, but too late. The creature's massive forearm plows against his chest. The impact tears a gash across his chest, sending him skidding backward.

Haji sways, blood seeping from his injury. The Chiropteran leaps at him—so high that he can see its underbelly, the curved dagger-sharp claws and tensed hindlegs. But before it can land, a blade whistles through the air.

One of the twins' swords.

It pierces the Chiropteran's ribs. The beast shrieks as it tumbles hard on its side. Blood spurts thickly from the wound.

Haji glances over his shoulder, to where the twins stand. Their own quarry is a butchered mass of flesh and bone. He can see pale ribs sticking out of its chest, shiny and blood-slick in the moonlight.

"Thank you, Sora," Haji says to the closest twin.

She glowers. "The name's _Kami_!"

Haji opens his mouth to answer. But the Chiropteran—sword protruding grotesquely from its chest—straightens with a hiss. Eye-blink fast, it charges.

Haji evades the first gnash of fangs. Saliva drips on the floor around his shoes. Swinging to the left, he whips Saya's katana from its strapped sheath. Swings it—with punishing force—across the Chiropteran's throat.

It is a killing blow. Bones and muscle sever. Blood erupts in a hot sticky geyser. In a blink, the Chiropteran's decapitated head flies off. Haji watches it roll across the ground, trailing a dark red sludge. When it comes to a halt, the eyes are still open, golden and lifeless. The remaining body, spasming and shuddering, slumps to the floor.

Blood pools everywhere, black-red in the moonlight.

Swiping the drenched blade across his pantleg, Haji returns it to its sheath. Behind him, Kami checks her wristwatch.

"Jeez, Haji. _Ten minutes_? You've sure gotten rusty."

He shakes his head. "This was never a talent worthy of cultivation."

"That's funny. Considering it's what kept you alive, you should flaunt it more often."

Sora shakes her head. "Uncool. He and Saya go for that whole 'low-key badass' Zen, remember?"

Ignoring them, Haji focuses on the blood-splattered bodies everywhere. The Chiropterans' carcasses, torn to gruesome chunks. The dead guard's body, lying facedown in a wide pool of blood. Rows of red slashes run down the man's chest. His eyes and mouth are open wide—an eternal dying scream.

Kami sighs. "I'll get in touch with Red Shield. Tell 'em to clean the area up. We don't need to alarm civilians."

"Or tip off the _Americans_ at the Kadena Base." Sora rolls her eyes. "Remember that time Red Shield sent us to retrieve a tagged Chiropteran from their s _oo_ per-s _ek_ rit bunker?"

"God, yeah." Kami puffs the hair off her face. "Who knew you could short out hi-tech equipment with Kai's _karē raisu_?"

"Hey. After torturing us with his cooking for thirty years, it had to be good for _something_."

Haji raises an eyebrow. "You took curry rice on your mission?"

" _Yeah_. Pre-mission bentos are an Otonashi family-tradition. Orginally, we planned to use it as a torture method. Y'know? Feed it to any personnel we captured. But instead we ended up—"

An ear-splitting roar muffles her words.

The trio whirls—

Just as a _massive_ Chiropteran bounds from the treetops. Leaves and twigs scatter in all directions. Landing on all fours, the Chiropteran snarls. In the ambience, Haji can see shards of glass buried in its torso. One eye gushes blood, coagulating and bubbling as it heals.

The Chiropteran hisses fiercely, body crouched low. Its snout brushes the pavement, as if sniffing the area. Narrowing out a scent.

Haji, Sora and Kami slide into defensive positions. But the Chiropteran ignores them. Lifting its head, it takes deep lungfuls of the air. Once. Twice.

And goes still.

Haji watches its head snap to the left. The red eyes narrow; jaws sharp-white and glistening in the moonlight. A ravenous smile.

Without warning, the Chiropteran takes off.

Haji sees it disappear deeper into the trees. Aside from the mad flapping of startled bird-flocks, the Chiropteran's movements are soundless.

A predator on the prowl.

Kami huffs. "Well, _that_ was rude. It totally ignored us."

Haji recognizes patterns in the Chiropteran's behavior. "It is hunting."

"Well, _hello._ Aren't we hunt-able enough?"

Sora snorts. "You mean indefensible, right?"

" _Same_ _thing_ , Ms. My-Brain-Is-A-Bigmouth-Thesaurus!" Kami blinks. "Huh. That sounds like a dinosaur or something."

Haji ignores them. His eyes narrow. "I have only seen a Chiropteran do that twice in the war."

"When?"

"Usually when it was hunting promising prey."

"Promising, _how_?"

"Promising as in feisty."

The twins exchange looks.

"What kind of suicidal nutjob would get 'feisty' with a Chiropteran?" Kami asks.

In the next breath, the answer hits them.

" _Saya_!"

* * *

In the near-deserted parking-lot, streetlights create a sickly orange glow.

The cars glitter under the dim light. At the edge of the lot, lawn sprinklers _whirr_ , sending ghostly spoondrifts flying. The wet grass sparkles as if strewn with crystals.

Saya's footsteps echo through the lot. She can't hear the Chiropteran behind her. But she knows it's nearby. Her eyes sweep wildly across the area. She needs to find something sharp. Something to defend herself with.

_One of these cars._

_It must have something inside._

Leaping to the closest car, she aims a hard side-kick at the trunk. Metal bits scatter. The trunk pops open, car-alarm whooping. A spare tire. A few small boxes. Nothing useful. Heart pounding, Saya rushes for the second car. Its trunk unearths bagfuls of equipment—but nothing dangerous or durable.

_Come on!_

In the third car, she finds a prize. A metal crow-bar. Jet-black and wicked-sharp. Hefting it like a baseball bat, Saya whirls around. She cannot see the Chiropteran anywhere. The carnival's music is a susurration now. The lawn-sprinklers make a dull _brrrr,_ turning the edges of the lot damp.

But nothing moves.

_Oh God._

Did she lose the Chiropteran? Did it find another victim?

The thought is chilling.

_I have to find that thing._

_I can't let someone else get hurt._

Crowbar in hand, she takes off. Five yards away, as she is clearing the parking-lot, an enormous form crashes down on her. Breath escapes her on an agonized _ooof!_ The weight pins her down, dense and solid, grating her skull against the concrete.

Humid growling breaths gust over the back of Saya's neck. She can feel the singing heat of the creature's muscular body.

Ready to kill.

Teeth gritted, Saya grips the crowbar. Swings it, two-fisted, against the Chiropteran's head.

_Whack._

Yelping, the creature reels back. Saya seizes the chance to scramble from under its weight. Whirling, she angles the crowbar like a sword, determined to smash the creature to death if nothing else.

The Chiropteran bares its fangs, the muscles on its back arching. Quick as a snake, it lunges at Saya. She swings the crowbar as hard as she can. Again and again, raining sharp blows on the creature's body. Each swing tears off chunks of flesh. Blood spatters everywhere. The Chiropteran lets off a _snarl_.

The sound vibrates through the lot, leaping up Saya's spine. Still she bashes ruthlessly, overcome by hot unstoppable rage. It is like reliving her death-spree in Vietnam. But now the bloodlust is purer.

Cold and steady and focused.

The Chiropteran hisses, driven backwards by the onslaught. Saya lashes on, refusing to back down. Blood pounds in her ears. Turns her vision bright red. Part of her wonders if this isn't instinctive at all—but that well-known burst of energy moments before death.

The Golden Glow.

Abruptly, the Chiropteran breaks through her defense. A thick arm crunches into her chest. _Hard_. Saya is knocked several feet through the air. Colliding—with a sickening _thud_ —on the windshield of a nearby car.

Star explode behind her eyes. Glass crunches into a white cobweb as the vehicle rocks on its suspension.

Groaning, Saya lifts her head.

And comes face to face with the savage red eyes and glistening white fangs of the Chiropteran.


	4. Omen

_"If you'll believe in me, I'll believe in you. Is that a bargain?"_

_-_ Lewis Carroll _, "Through the Looking Glass."_

* * *

The Chiropteran is barely five inches away. Balanced on its hindlegs, claws splayed against the car's bonnet. Holding Saya prisoner.

_Oh God._

Sprawled across the cracked windshield, Saya's eyes scan wildly for the crowbar. She glimpses it on the ground. Too far away.

_Dammit._

The Chiropteran nuzzles its snout across her torso. Sniffing. Inhaling. Lapping up her scent of rage and helplessness. Nearby, the lawn-sprinklers throw a cool wet shower across their bodies.

Pinned, soaked in bloodstains and mizzle, Saya swallows.

The Chiropteran is too close to kick effectively. She cannot flail from under its weight. Any fisticuffs risk being bitten off by razor-sharp fangs. Headbutting is out of the question. She is trapped.

Strategically.

Physically.

The realization should terrify. But a strange boneless lassitude takes her. Everything so dreamy, yet so _vivid_. She can see the pebbled texture of the Chiropteran's damp skin. Smell its rotten odor of salt and meat, overlaid by the liquid aroma of the sprinkler-water.

But everything seems so faraway. From a secret corner of her mind, that same song unfurls:

_Sommeil, sommeil, viens viens viens_ _  
_Sommeil, sommeil, viens de quelque part..._ _

She listens with an indolent intensity. The Chiropteran presses closer, sealing her body against the hard cold metal. Red eyes and fangs glitter in the ambient light. Nothing human in its gaze. Nothing beyond animalistic victory.

An ever-present part of her, always eager to plunge off the edge, coaxes, _Why struggle? It's better to give in._

_Better to finally rest._

The deepest, most profound Sleep. The ultimate farewell.

Saya fights against the feeling. But her strength is a dull spark. Multiple images of past battles strobe through her head. Blazing and dying, filling her with a sense of futility, waste. And one by one, the ghosts return—a ferris wheel of empty eyes and sibilant whispers.

She sees them crowding the car. Whispering and pointing, faces milky over the Chiropteran's ridged shoulders. Riku lays his little elbows against the bonnet, blood dripping in wet _splats_ from his torn neck. Irene steps close, her skin like flaking plaster, revealing veins of garish red. Saya hears her whispering, _Help me, please help._

At her left, Diva sways. Her clothes are silk and velvet, rusty with bloodstains, her hair tumbling over her shoulders. Giggling and humming, she seems serene and completely insane. Amshel stands beside her, arm threaded possessively through hers. Stolid and cold-eyed; thin lips curled in a sneer.

_'Did you think you could escape us?'_

Saya's eyes squeeze shut.

_I can't_

_I know I can't._

The world ripples as she trembles beneath the Chiropteran. She cannot feel the hard metal under her back. Cannot feel her attacker's suffocating weight. She fights that floaty drifting sensation which makes her want to close her eyes.

Her whole life seems to be unreeling, every crime and death and defeat from the beginning racing through her mind. Somewhere deep inside, lines from an old book flare. Obscure and portentous; making no yet absolute sense:

" _It takes all the running you can do, to keep in the same place. If you want to get somewhere else, you must run at least twice as fast as that!"_

Her throat tightens.

_No matter how much I've struggled, I'm always where I started._

_Nothing ever changes._

_Except..._

Except Diva is dead. Her family is still alive. She has two perfect nieces. She is loved by a wonderful man. She has won a second chance.

It hits her then, a starburst—she is back at the Met, kneeling over Diva's crystallized corpse. Listening to the drumbeat of rain, ready to face Death. The respite had been so close—a whisper of eternal peace. All energy had escaped her. She'd _wanted_ to die that night. Wanted it more than blood, or air or vengeance.

But she hadn't.

_Because I wanted it live._

_I finally_ — _finally!_ — _had a_ reason _to go on._

Her life no longer flashes before her eyes. Instead it is a kaleidoscope of shifting images, emotions, scents, sounds. Strains of cello music. The sparkling blue sea. Two babies cooing in their cocoons. Melting scoops of ice cream. High jumps. Thick soba noodles dripping with succulent sauce. Kai's strong clear voice calling her name. The healing warmth of her Dad's smile. Riku's small fingers curled through hers. The seductive reverb of Haji's cool kisses...

All that sweetness, interwoven into despair. All that miraculous love you couldn't get anywhere, no matter how much you wished.

_But I have all that._

_Despite everything, I have so much._

Grief isn't the only measure of life. The war has taught her that.

" _Eveillez-vous, réveillez vous_ _, Saya._ _C_ _e n'est pas_ _encore terminée_."

Her eyes widen.

She sees a pale appirition. A small boy. He kneels beside her splayed body, legs near her arm, almost touching. A _noh_ mask is strapped over his head. His eyes in the small round face are wide and catlike. Regarding her with a calm glowing intensity, he is like an angelic omen.

" _Apprendre de vos erreurs. Accepter le passé. Chacun est comme il ou elle peut être. Nul ne peut être plus que ce qu'il est."_

Saya feels the weight of his gaze, despite the influx of emotions overwhelming her, the terrible ghosts drifting everywhere. She is too awestruck to move.

The child smiles. His eyes glow amber-gold. Like the black cat she saw earlier.

" _Réveillez vous, Saya."_

"Wh-what?" she whispers.

" _Réveillez vous."_

"But—I—"

"Saya? _Saya_!"

The voice is an aural red-flag. Suddenly, all the specters dissipate. She is back inside herself. Chiropteran bent over her, jaws wide and dripping saliva. And over its shoulder—

_Haji._

Through the sprinkler rain, she sees him. Running at full-pelt, a small dagger at hand.

Without pausing, he flings it at the Chiropteran. The blade streaks like quicksilver through the air. Digs, dead-on, into the creature's back. It arches, howling in agony.

Saya snatches the distraction, drawing both legs to her chest to kick it brutally in the stomach. The blow sends the monster tumbling back. Leaping off the car, she shouts:

"Haji! _Sword!_ "

Unsheathing her katana, Haji tosses it through the air. The blade spins in a wide arc, a flashing pinwheel in the night sky. Its handle drops into Saya's open palm as if by magic.

In her grip, the katana seems to vibrate with energy. It is like completing an electrical circuit; all the power and force siphoning into Saya's body. Setting her alight.

In the dimness, her eyes blaze red.

" _Kyaaaaaaa_!"

Dormant reflexes awaken. In a blur, Saya lunges for the Chiropteran. All her hesitation is gone. Every blow is meant to decimate. The Chiropteran bellows, dodging her blinding blitzkrieg. But Saya is too fast.

Leaping high, she slashes across the Chiropteran's throat. It lifts a dense arm, swatting her off. But her blade has already pierced its target. Blood sprays in all directions. The Chiropteran foams from the mouth, flailing wildly.

But Saya has already wrenched her sword out, thumb pressed to the sharp groove.

Her blood stripes the sword red. On a resonating _scream_ , she swings for the Chiropteran's chest. The cut is so swift, so ferocious, that the beast is cleaved in half. The monster roars in agony as Saya's blood fuses with its system. Then, shuddering violently, its entire frame convulsing and calcifying, it falls in two disordered pieces to the floor.

Dead.

Nearby, sprinklers keep whirring. Water rains down on Saya, soaking her already-drenched kimono. Droplets of blood form a reddish puddle at her feet.

But the parking lot is silent.

Panting, Saya wipes the soaked hair from her eyes. She is trembling all over with aftershocks of adrenaline. But this is the first time her body feels _real_. That anything does.

Yesterday she could have sworn she was a different girl—a sleepwalker lost in ether. But now, like a fading spell, she can see again. Feel the cool bite of the night air. Hear her own sawing breaths, blending with the merriment of the far-off carnival.

It is like waking from a long dream.

"Saya!" Haji rushes forward. "Are you all right?"

"I-I'm fine."

Her legs tremble. Suddenly she is wobbly as a drunk. Haji catches her before she pitches face-first to the floor.

" _Easy_." He straightens, arms encircling her. "I am so sorry. I should have arrived sooner. But I could not find you."

"I-It's okay."

His face is knit with concern. "Are you hurt? There is blood all over your dress."

"It's okay. Eighty percent isn't mine."

"But—"

"Really. It doesn't matter anymore."

"Doesn't matter?" Worried, he studies her. "Saya, are you really all right? You seem—strange."

Saya opens her mouth. But what can she say? He is being literal, not metaphoric. Yet inside, she can _feel_ that strangeness. Simmering through her blood, reanimating and rousing her. The first flash of Life.

And that isn't all.

The ghosts in her psyche—the images of mayhem—are absent. They seem to have scattered like a house of cards.

And somehow, she knows they will not return.

Saya sighs. From a recess of her mind, lines from that old book flash again: _"Wake up, Alice dear! Why, what a long sleep you've had!"_

"Oh, I've had such a curious dream," she breathes.

"What?"

"Nothing." She smiles. "It's nothing, Haji. Really. I'm okay."

 _'Réveillez vous_...'

* * *

The carnival is half-empty.

Authorities, at Red Shield's behest, have cut the festivities short. The revelers have gone home. Shop-vendors are cleaning up. Several blue-uniformed policemen monitor the area.

At a Red Shield vehicle parked further off, Haji watches operatives load the three Chiropterans, and their victim, into bodybags. Sora ( _I'm_ certain _it is Sora_ ) is on a cellphone, dispatching information to higher-ups. Nearby, Kaminari, perched on a bench, vamps seductively for a young male operative, whose eyes keep slipping from her red lips to her sexily crossed legs. The entire area has an air of finished business.

Above, the sky lightens, a clear azure blue. The faint scent of ocean, mingling with the echoes of old drinks and food, is strangely refreshing.

"Yo."

Haji turns.

Kai approaches him, weary but alert. "Did the medics check you out?"

He nods.

"Good. They've just finished with Saya, too." Kai rubs the back of his neck. "It sucks, having this happen on _Obon_. You'd think those freaks'd give us three measly days off."

"Red Shield's intel suggests they were not securely locked in. The operatives in charge of their transport were hasty."

"Huh. Typical for this time of year. Everyone's in a big fuckin' rush." Kai yawns. "Speaking of which, the twins and I ought to go visit the family tomb later."

"I thought you already did."

"Yeah. But it's a tradition for us to revisit, after _Obon_. We hang out by the mausoleum. Have a picnic. When I was a kid, our Dad did the same thing. I thought it was drag at the time. But I get it now. _Obon's_ a time for remembering the dead. But it's also a time for celebrating life."

Haji has not considered it from that angle. But it is true. It is only in the midst of hardship that one grasps how precious life is.

"Maybe Saya ought to go home." Kai stretches with an audible _crick_. "Unless she wants to come along to the tomb. But I figure, after last night, she'd wanna rest. The twins're used to crazy schedules. They're over-caffeinated half the time, anyway. But after this, we oughtta cut Saya some slack."

"Perhaps." His own body is too keyed-up for exhaustion. Nightly battles have never wearied him. In the war, his primary emotion was relief that he and Saya had survived. It was only afterward—sometimes days later—that the enormity of everything sank in.

He hopes that will not happen now. If anything, the battle was mercifully short. He can put it out of his mind.

But can Saya?

_A single grain of rice is often enough to tip the scale._

A sudden anxiety overcomes him.

"I will ask Saya if she wishes to accompany you." He pauses. "For now, perhaps you should watch the twins."

"Huh? Why?"

"That young man is clearly making moves on Kami. Or vice versa."

Kai follows Haji's gaze. "That's not _Kami_. That's—whoa. Hold on. It _is_ Kami!" He scowls. "What the fuck? The guy _is_ macking on her. Guess it's Dad to the Rescue."

"She hardly appears to need rescuing."

"Not _her_. The guy." Kai sighs. "You won't believe how many of her ex-boyfriends show up at my door with broken body-parts. That girl's a walking lawsuit."

Grumbling, he takes off.

Haji, meanwhile, has a Queen of his own to worry about. He hurries for the van housing Saya. But it is empty save for the medics. Saya's blood pack is drained. He searches around the vehicles. But she is nowhere in sight.

_Oh God._

_Could she have_ — _?_

A _mrrrowr_ reaches his ears. Haji spins. A small black cat pads by. For a moment, Haji wonders if—

But of course not. By dawn, it is hard to imagine the things he saw—the masked little boy, the mysterious cat—are real. If anything, they were probably the products of an antic imagination.

Having fought monsters for years, it is ironic that Haji is skeptical to the core.

_Why believe in ghosts when the real world holds enough horrors?_

He finds Saya, at last, on a faraway green knoll. She lies sprawled in the thick grass, sword still in her hand. Her body is dappled by the sunlight from the stirring trees above. Haji can hear her heart beating—sure and strong. Around her, a winking glow in the weeds turns out to be fireflies.

For a moment, Haji stares, entranced. The scene puts him in mind of Artemis; drowsing after a victorious hunt. Tempting to let her rest, until dawn has fully broken. But he needs to know if she is all right.

"Saya?" He kneels beside her. The lush air smells heavily of flowers. "Saya? Wake up."

"Hm?" Her eyes open. Apparently not at all startled to see him, she smiles. "What's wrong?"

"Shall we head home? You can wash up and rest there."

"Mmmm. Not yet."

Her calm gaze is bewildering. A few days ago, she'd been pale and vague, a photocopy of herself. But since her battle, something is different about her. He cannot put his finger on it. She seems sleeker, her eyes bright and more liquid. As if awoken from a refreshing sleep.

_How can that be?_

Perhaps, after all that trauma, she has gone mad? Or perhaps, something happened during the battle. Something esoteric and cathartic that he is only just grasping.

"Kai and the twins are going to visit their family tomb," he says. "Do you wish to accompany them?"

"No. I'll go by myself later. There's a lot I want to tell Dad and the others." At his look, she smiles ruefully. "Oh, Haji. Don't stare at me like that. I promise, I'm not crazy."

"There is no harm in checking."

"I know. I've been worrying you a lot, haven't I? But you shouldn't worry. I can only get better at my own pace." She sighs, eyes slipping shut. Her tone changes. Low, almost raspy. "I was thinking something, y'know? Before I dozed off."

"What?"

"I was remembering the night of our big battle. At the Met. Back then, I was so sure I'd either kill Diva or die trying. Or both." She opens her eyes. Looks up at the sky, as if absorbing its blue glow. "While I was getting ready, I remember feeling so sad. Like, I don't know. A bride dressing up for her wedding night. Which is something that's usually—all about romance and anticipation, isn't it? Except I understood it was something I'd never get to experience. I would never have a normal life, with a husband or a boyfriend. I'd never feel any of the little joys and pains a normal girl did. The only thing I was _married_ to was... death."

Haji frowns. He has sensed her grief over her unnatural existence several times.

But this is a new revelation.

Saya avoids his eyes. Intent, it seems, to air everything out. "I know it upsets you a little when I say his name. But that's probably why I was so taken with what _Solomon_ offered me. He was giving me chance to escape the war. Not just that. To live my dream. To be all the things I couldn't be. With a lover. And a family."

Haji hides a wince. Hard to think about that. He and Saya never discussed what happened in Solomon's penthouse. But it wasn't difficult to intuit what Solomon might have offered her.

He speaks carefully. "He loved you."

"I know." Saya swallows. "I doubted it, at first. But by the end, I couldn't have been surer. Except...I couldn't accept what he was offering, either. Because those dreams weren't part of my life anymore. They weren't who I was. I still wanted a happy life, of course. With Kai and everyone else. But there was someone else I wanted just as much. Maybe more."

She turns to him. Her smile is tentative. "You remember, when you caught me that night? How you let your wings loose to stop me from falling?"

He nods.

"I think that was the moment. Where I knew that even if I had the chance, I couldn't accept Solomon's offer. I was in love with someone else. With _you_."

Shock spangles through him.

 _Love_.

She has never yet said that word. Since her Awakening, he can count on one hand how often _he_ has said it to _her._ It is not a declaration either of them take lightly.

Saya blushes. "You seem surprised. Did you doubt that I did?"

"N-No—" _Only twice. When you cut off my hand in Vietnam. And later, when you Awoke in Okinawa and didn't remember me._ "You never—"

"Never told you? How could I? It wouldn't have made a difference. I thought I was going to die once the war ended. But even then, I thought—if I could start my life over, it'd be with you. Everyone else had some misconception of me. As a killer, or an enemy, or a little girl. But you always saw _me_."

Embarrassed, Haji ducks his head.

He can feel Saya's wavery smile on him. Her cheeks are blotchy. "I was afraid, though. That you might not feel the same way. That you were with me out of a Chevalier's duty. Or... brotherly love. Until you kissed me at the Met." Her voice drops. "I always thought first kisses were about fire and smoke. Violets blooming. Fireworks. All that rubbish. But ours was a sweet little _'oh'_. Like I realized something I'd forgotten. About me, and everything else."

Haji allows himself a smile. An irrational urge rises, to tell someone about all this. Tell _Saya_. But Saya is right here.

One of the many surrealities of falling in love with your best friend.

Leaning in, he kisses her; chaste, teasing. "And what does this feel like?"

Her lips are very warm against his. The eyelashes brush his face in a whispery touch that makes him shiver. "Like I want to go home."

He sobers. "Of course. You must be tired after—"

"You don't get it." Her eyes are witchy. "I want to go home. To my room. With you."

_With you._

Haji ignores the lurch in his gut, and the hot hard surge lower down. There is no mistaking her meaning. Off in the tangle of trees, birds chirp and flutter; a small unseen animal—a cat?—rustles the bushes.

But here, everything is perfectly still.

"Saya—"

She is already on her feet. Contemplatively, she regards the dried bloodstain on his shirt. Glances at the near-identical stain on her _yukata_. She smiles. "Would you look at that. Mine's bigger than yours."

Dryly, Haji says, "That is physically impossible, Saya."

"We'll see about that." She offers him a small hand. After a moment, Haji takes it. Her fingers tremble as they curl around his. Need, or nerves? For him, it is _all_ nerves.

Is she really proposing what he thinks she is? Does she want to take such a big step— _now_?

"Saya, perhaps we should—"

She leans up on tiptoe. Her kiss dissolves the protest. A hot dark gravity that draws him in.

_She asked me._

_She asked me come back with her._

There is nothing he can refuse her.


	5. Libation

* * *

_"It's no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then."_

* * *

He has no idea what he expects her to be like.

He's fantasized about this moment a million times. Scenarios of burning degrees, from dreamlike to nail-gougingly wild. But _ignis fatuus_ rarely coexists with tactile truth. He knows Saya—thoroughly and obsessively. Knows her wrath. Her kindness. How she swings her sword in battles. How she thrashes to nightmares in sleep. Knows her war-cry, her favorite cello-songs, how she kisses, how she takes her coffee.

The agony of her weeping. The magic of her laughter.

All that, he knows completely.

But now...

Sprawled beneath him in bed, her lips tasting of insomnia and sweetness, Saya is a stranger.

A bewitching stranger. Her red-stained _yukata_ is half-undone, pink folds disarrayed in a macabre lotus. Her outspread hair spills everywhere, skin striped in gold by the sunrays slanting through the curtains. Eyes blood-red. Lips swollen from kisses.

His kisses.

Finally.

"Saya—" He is so light-headed. Body prickling under his clothes, as if poised at a cliff. Anxiety and excitement. "Saya. Wait, I—"

"Ssh." She draws him in. Kisses him all over his face. Her lips are red-hot; little brands on his cool skin. He shivers, burying his face in her hair. Her body's smallness, the power singing through her, is disorienting. He snatches for control.

Daylight makes everything too real. Saya's perfection seems more warm than mysterious. Still beautiful—but in that fresh glowing way that makes her almost _tangible_.

His at last.

He is terrified of wanting her too much, being too brutish. Part of him wants to tear her clothes off. Drive into her like a madman. The other part—awed, trembling—wants to covet this moment. A golden apple snatched from an Olympian banquet.

"Saya—"

She wriggles under him, hands plucking at his shirt. "Haji, _please_. Don't think right now. I want this. So do you. There's nothing to worry about."

"But—"

" _No_." Tears brighten her eyes. "There's been enough—nightmares all around. I want it to stop. I want to _wake up."_

"Saya _—_ "

"Please. Nothing bad will happen. I-I wouldn't have survived in the war, if you weren't with me. I'm safe with you. I always have been. I think—I can even be happy again. _Please._ "

Tears roll down her face, shiny in the sunlight. She begins to sob.

Brave, beautiful Saya. Swept ashore after a tumultuous sea-storm. Her kisses and entreaties torment him. But it is her tears that awaken something heavier.

Not just the need to comfort her. But to reclaim her. Call her back.

Over their heads, the ceiling fan stirs the cool air, their bodies striped by the tropical sun flowing from the window. Haji hears the grind of distant traffic; people's voices and chirping birds. A hot summer afternoon on the other side of the glass.

But here, it is a glad refuge.

Just the two of them, in an oasis of possibility.

"Saya. _Ssh_."

He drowns her weeping on a kiss. She clings to him, a sob bubbling up her throat. But he holds her still, her head trapped in his two hands. Takes what he has always craved, a slow hungry exploration of her mouth. Hot and wet and sweet, exciting him beyond sense. He learns the heat of her tongue, its flavor and softness. Absorbs her sighs, the fevery thread of her pulse and all her pretty hair tangled in his fingers.

Time stretches out in a flutina. His whole body is alight for her. But he refuses to fall to impulse. He kisses her for five minutes. Ten. Her scent deepens, excitement simmering. She makes low mewing noises in her throat. But he keeps it merciless. Achingly slow.

He has always found kissing Saya erotic. But he's never imagined it could be so _eloquent_. He writes their entire wordless tale into her mouth. Confesses everything he can and cannot say.

At last, they part on gasps.

"Ha-Haji." Saya is hot pink and panting. Eyes alive with...

Wonder? Or fear?

He smoothes back a strand of hair, pasted to her damp cheek.

"I-I want to do this right," he says. "I do not want to hurt you."

"You won't."

"You cannot know that." More than considerate, he must be practical. "But you must tell me if I do."

Her smile is tremulous. "After all the times I've hurt you, maybe it's fair?"

"Shh." A kiss, more air than flesh. Resonating with his _Never_. He whispers into her parted lips. "How do you want this? Would it be more comfortable for you on top, or—"

She lets off a nervous laugh. "We'll figure out the A to B later. But n-no more questions. _Please_."

Carefully, he unties the sash of her _obi_. Peels away layers of fabric, the cords and bows a tantalizing puzzle. The first glimpse of her, all nude and deliciously disarrayed, makes his breath catch. She is so ripe and alive, a tender apricot plucked from a tree. In the bright clean light, it's like seeing her for the first time.

But her trembling scares him. She seems to be fighting a secret thixophobia. Almost unable to separate vulnerability from defeat.

Yet she lays still. Lets him look.

This—more than anything—is staggering. She is baring herself completely. Giving him free reign.

Caressing her at first is awkward. He is afraid of being too rough with his unbandaged claw; too clumsy with his human hand. Anxiety wrestles with greed. She is so quiet—as if under a somnific spell. But he feels the thrilling gallop of her pulse. She sighs with each new sensation. Stirs to his careful touch, a slow desire blooming, turning her hot and sleek and pink.

Coming awake for him.

He starts off slow, kissing his way down her body, a shower of cool kisses. Teases the arc of her throat, the points of her collarbone. Tongue whorling down her breasts. Circling each aureole, plum-dark on pale skin. He bites them with his teeth, gently, not hurting her. Feels her squirm, and flush, and cry out beneath him. Exquisitely responsive, yielding as melted candle-wax.

Entirely his to sculpt and tease.

Entranced, he traces the slope of her stomach, his breath cool on her hot skin. His tongue, cooler still, swirls around her navel. Slips lower, lower, until Saya jerks up. "Ha-Haji—"

"Ssh." He parts her trembling legs. Senses her struggle not to draw away. Their eyes meet along the line of her body. She is flushed and panting, mouth half-open. Playfully, he bites the tender skin of her inner-thigh. Feels her gasp, and then shudder as he engulfs her with his cool wet mouth.

"Ohhhhh!"

Saya's hands scrabble at his hair, but not hard enough to push him off. Haji holds her down with his clawed hand. Traces circles with his tongue. Careful, almost contemplative. Smiling when she whimpers and tries to wriggle away.

The room's air feels hotter. Atmosphere shifting; lush and sultry. Saya's panting turns into a low singsong croon, racing in chills down his spine. He stays with her, learning what makes her tremble, jerk, mewl. Devours her in a rain of languid licks and kisses. Stroking fingers that make her arch and cry out. Hums that make her vibrate and flush.

He wants to make the absolute most of this moment. Wants her to know what _he_ has endured. His wild yawning need in the war, while she'd kept herself apart. How he'd seethed, ached, waited.

In the bright sunlight, she is a live sacrifice.

Completely at his mercy.

The longer he keeps on, the hotter Saya boils. Tremors bubble through her, pouring in frantic _ah ah ahs_ from her lips. Her fingers scrape his hair, belly hollowing with each gasp. He watches in anxious rapture. Unbelievable, feeling her climb to her crest. She is trusting him with her body. Trusting him to see her undefended.

All armor falling.

He teases until her cries go faster, overwrought. She twists from side to side, hands fisting the sheets, a blotchy flush spreading across her skin. Her wildness crackles in the air around her; seeming to fizzle through her blood, bring out a film of sweat on her body.

It is like watching a storm brew. All saltwater and electricity.

Her climax hits in a high-voltage shock. Her thighs squeeze tight around his head; she surges and spasms, sobbing his name. Still he keeps on, fingers digging into her hips. Increases the pressure, licking, sucking, nibbling, until her cries blur into a _scream_.

"Oh God—no more—please— _please_ —!"

Sobbing, Saya tears away. Gulps air as if awash, damp hair tangled across her face, her whole body trembling. Carefully, Haji climbs across her. He wants to gauge her roulette of expressions. But she flails out, catching him by the hair. Yanks him in, printing wild kisses to his face, his neck.

"Haji—Haji—" It is a breathless mantra.

Her hands scrabble at his clothes. He lets her tumble him over. Lets her unfasten his trousers, slip eager palms underneath his shirt. She drags it off, her warm skin radiant on his coolness. Peels down his pants, leaning in to press hot moist kisses across his body. Her boldness stuns him. Eyes bright and smoky, as if she is on ether.

Her hot palms trail down the flexing skin of his abdomen. Close—shyly—on hard, too-warm flesh.

Haji sucks in a sharp breath. "Sa-Saya—"

She darts up a nervous glance. Her fingers tremble. She strokes but can't quite find a rhythm. He winces at her fumbling. "Here—Let me—"

He wraps his hand over hers. Moves them together, once, twice, until she finds the right pace. Her timidity—or is it teasing?—is maddening. Dimly, he feels her gaze slipping from their gliding hands, to his expression; the parted lips, eyes half-lidded. Then she leans in. Dipping to bite his neck, the smooth skin of his ribs and stomach. Taking him, slowly, into the wet shocking heat of her mouth.

A gasp slips from Haji's lips. "Saya, _wait_ —!"

She lets off a bubbly giggle. The sound floods his sensorium, bypassing his brain completely. All her wild hair spills down, tickling his belly and his thighs. He drinks in the sight of her pouty lips taking him in, her pink cheeks and bright eyes. She goes slowly, unsure of her methods. But with a sense, even now, of her power—Calypso ensnaring Odysseus.

Shakily, Haji combs back her hair, slipping it through his fingers. She is curled against him, stretched across one leg, breasts crushed against his thigh. Bestowing long maddening licks, hot wet openmouthed kisses. Making his entire body thrum like a vibrating steel string. Somewhere deep within him, a bright red spica blooms. Flowers into hundreds of spicas, flaring and popping, filling his head with sultry lecherous _need_.

Biting a groan, he jerks back.

"Saya—stop—!"

"What? Am I doing it wron—?"

She cannot finish. Lunging, he pins her down. Kisses her, dark and greedy and possessive. All thoughts are off. All instincts go. She melts like putty as he scoops her knees up, opening her wide. Sobs as he pushes slowly in. Wet and hot. Impossibly tight.

It hurts her, of course. Her eyes squeeze shut. She breathes short and fast, her taut thighs quivering around his waist. For a moment he isn't sure she can take him. Then their hands meet, palm on palm, fingers twining tight. Jaw locked, he sinks in halfway.

"Ha-Haji—!"

Saya's cry is raw. Full of distress.

"It—It's all right." He swallows. "Just—hold onto me."

She nods, lips trembling. Winces as he pushes deeper in. _God_. It is like being burned alive. A deep hot pressure that makes the room flicker and turn to static, makes his mind, his body, everything _plunge_. Gasping, he slides home in one convulsive stroke.

Finally.

_Finally._

"Oh God," Saya sobs. He feels her simmering all around him. Enveloping. Exquisite. Her tears are a shocking spill. "Oh—oh God."

Panting, Haji settles his weight against her. He is tensed all over. Almost unbearably still.

"Is it—too much?"

She gulps in air, expelling it on a whimper. "It f-f-feels strange."

"If it hurts—"

"No." Her face is bright pink, tear-stained. She swallows. "Just—w-wait a bit."

Sighing, he buries his face in her hair. For a long long moment, they lie pressed together, head to toe. He can feel Saya's mouth against the sweaty hollow of his throat. Feeling her panting, settling into the new sensations. Her whole body radiates a fevery trembling.

Hands entwined, he feathers his lips against hers. "Am I—crushing you?"

"A little." She tries a watery smile. "Please—go slow."

He kisses her, a half-bitten sigh escaping him. Starts a lazy rocking rhythm. In and out, sweet and slick and full. She cries out, little pleading cries that make the pent-up hunger spread all through him. Pleasure weighed against pain.

"It's all right." He breathes it into her tangled hair. "It's all right, Saya."

She makes a mewing noise. Almost a secret chord—resonating at a pitch only he can comprehend. Sweat trickles, gluing their bodies together. Creates electrical friction where his chest slides against her nipples; a chill where the cool air touches the drenched skin of his back. Bit by bit, she breathes harder. Grinds circles around his deep rhythm, her body exuding waves of heat. Her whimpers make his bones sing.

Never thought he'd have this. Her warmth, her trust and innocence, so freely given.

"Saya, Saya—" He kisses her again, gulping, desperate. Tastes her laugh—a sweet melting sound that vibrates through him. Unspooling his control. Shuddering, he saws his hips faster. She moans, and matches him. So much need in her eyes, shining through the glaze of pain.

So much love.

He is aware of the minutes pooling away, of sunlight throwing yellow lines and long midday shadows, of Saya's gasping sobs and the dewy flush spreading over her skin. At the same time, he is absorbed by the tension humming through him, in his muscles and his groin, simmering, unstoppable. Release crowds like a dark infusing drug.

"S-Saya." His breath quavers on a hiss. "I'm sorry. But I-I think I—"

Saya licks his jaw. The skin burns, red-hot. She whispers: "It's okay."

"Saya—"

"Let go, Haji. Come on."

Exhaling, he shuts his eyes. Kisses her—deep hot gulps matched by deep hot strokes. Faster and faster, a tight slippery barrage that overloads him with sensation. Saya keens in time with each movement. Hands scrabbling at his shoulders. Digging tiny red dents into his back. The bright pain jolts down his spine; an algolagnic slide into _bliss_.

But it seems unfair not to take her along.

Snatching the fingers of her right hand, he lifts them to his mouth. Sucks them hungrily, one by one, before pressing them between their bodies. She gasps. "H-Haji—"

He opens his eyes. "Don't—hold back with me. _Please_."

Saya flushes, lip bit. Strokes herself, a shy delicate strumming. In the glow of afternoon, the sight is both risqué and angelic. Her hair pasted to her sweat-slick skin, the languid lines of her body, her tipsy eyes and small starfishing hands, one clutching the sheets, the other between her thighs, draw his gaze over and over.

Groaning, he takes her harder, filling her completely. Hot and liquid. _Perfect_. She sobs, head rolling back, mouth a swollen pink 'O'. He can't take his eyes off her. Needs to watch her ignite, naked and burning as a flame.

The bed jolts to his wild movements. Pleas and cries fall from her as she shakes in helpless waves. Little feet pressed against his back. Bruising grip of one little hand on his waist, the other rubbing furiously just above their drenched connection. He hears as well as feels the flowing slickness between them. His name saws from her lips— _Haji, Haji, oh please._

And then it happens. A slow-motion freefall. Arching, she cries out—half-stunned, half-agonized. Head snapping back, body twisting and jerking as if drowning. She shudders all around him, deep and full, until he fears she'll pull him straight into her womb. Swallow him like water, or blood.

A woozy shock laps at Haji:

_God._

_So this is what it's all about._

That mystery of sex and power. The primeval secret of Life. At once clichéd and dizzying.

And then all control spins out, and he is seizing up—intense, seismic, his climax exploding from him in hard rolling shudders. A blinding physical adulation.

* * *

Saya's bathtub is square and sunken, filled with steaming water. Bright tealights flicker at corners. Spicy-scented bubbles fizzle. Immersed to the chin, Saya drowses. Shoulders gleaming under a lush chignon, wet strands curling around her neck and face.

A languid sea-nymph.

Shirtless, Haji kneels by the tub. Wrings a sponge out, running it slowly up her back, over her arms and breasts. He watches the soap bubbles flow, white on golden skin. It is like offering a libation.

"Saya?" he whispers.

"Mmm?"

"Are you awake?"

"Yes." She sighs, eyes fluttering open. In the hot water, her body is warm and sublime. All shyness forgotten. "I really shouldn't be. Maybe it's some chemical reaction. My brain's practically singing: _Sleep, sleep go away/Come back some other day_..."

"It might be too much adrenaline. The fatigue will come later."

"I kinda hope not. Suddenly it feels like there's a lot I need to do. Spend time with Kai and the girls. Go shopping. Look up old friends. None of it struck me as important when I first Awoke. But now..." She shrugs.

"Perhaps you should rest, first. You have—exerted yourself enough today."

At the bittersweet concern in his voice, she smiles.

"I'm okay. Really. But I think—" She touches her throat. "I'm losing my voice. Like when I'd sing too many sonnets at the Zoo's balls."

Smiling, he smoothes a tendril of hair off her face. "I was rather taken with your 'sonnets' earlier. Perhaps I could request an encore when you feel better?"

Her cheeks redden. "Hold that thought. Right now, what I need is a huge bowl of panfried _gyoza_ and a hot drink."

"I'll fix you something."

"It's okay." A giggle. "You've done enough for today, soldier."

"Not quite yet." Dipping the sponge, he strokes it up her thigh. Transfixed by her pretty leg rising out of the water, slippery and sudsy in the glowing tealights. It is almost like making love to her. Every inch worshipped.

He'd only done this twice in the war. Both times, it was a quick and clinical procedure after savage battles. Blood seeping from Saya's wounds, coloring the water bright-red. Sensing her shame and fury, knowing she was too weak to move, to do this herself.

But now, she hums sweetly, eyes half-lidded. In the steaming water, moisture beads her hairline, rolling down her face. Her lullaby is almost an exultation.

_Sommeil, sommeil, viens viens viens  
Sommeil, sommeil, viens de quelque part..._

What is she thinking? He isn't arrogant enough to believe that their lovemaking fixes anything. That all her dilemmas will fade with one good tumble.

But she appears more awake, somehow. Different from after the battle, or even during sex. The tension is gone from her mouth, eyes soft and bright. Aphrodite rejuvinated by a mythical bath.

"It's funny," she says then.

"What?"

"How people make such a big deal out of...well, you know. What we did. Like it's some Rite of Passage. But it's kind of the same as our first kiss."

He raises an eyebrow. "That was no little 'oh'. Not for me, at any rate."

She reddens. "I don't mean _that_. I-I just mean—I don't feel any different. I just feel like _me_. Like Saya, with Haji."

"What sort of Saya?"

"I dunno. The happy sort." She lifts her fingers to his lips. Water streams down her hand. "Maybe the happiest."

"Like your old self?"

She seems to ponder that. "No. Not like my old self. I think—maybe that's what's been bothering me so much. I keep waiting to be someone else again. The Saya... with the amnesia. Or the one at the Zoo. But those two people were only half of who I really am. Does that make any sense?"

"It does."

More than he can express.

She sighs, raising her eyes to his. "I know you want me to let go of the past. To not feel such...remorse. I want the same thing. But when I was fighting those Chiropterans, I-I realized something. The past isn't just something that'll go away. I can't escape it. Because it's made me who I am now. I'm always worried about not being my old self. But who _was_ she? Would she be _happy_ here? I mean, I'm happy right now, with you. But it's because I've seen the other side of the coin. I know what it's like to be absolutely miserable. The old Saya didn't know that."

" 'It's no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.' "

She frowns. "That sounds familiar."

"It is from _Alice in Wonderland_."

"Oh." She lets off a laugh. "God. I _feel_ like Alice. Waking up from some strange dream. But somehow, that story finally makes a little sense to me."

"Does it?"

"Mmm. Remember, how at the end, the Queen of Hearts wants to cut off Alice's head? But Alice has already realized how—absurd everything is. Her enemies can't really hurt her. She says—"

" 'You're nothing but a pack of cards.' "

She beams at the shared understanding. "Right. Because those enemies she's fighting—are all in her head. Like—old ghosts. They can't hurt her if she doesn't let them. And it's exactly that moment when she wakes up."

Haji nods. She has untangled the issue faster than he'd dared imagine.

"I am glad you seem at peace with it, Saya."

"At peace? _Hardly_. I'm terrified. The war was everything I knew. Everything I _was_. Now it's over. It's like being reincarnated. Who am I now? I shouldn't think about it. But I can't help it." She swallows. Her eyes go dark and humid with affection. "Still. What's most comforting...is having you and my family here. I've made so many mistakes in the past. But I-I want to do better for all of you. I _have_ to be better."

He caresses the line of her jaw with his thumb. She shivers, forcing herself to meet his gaze.

"You will be better, Saya."

"Oh?"

"You have already come this far. Day by day, you can begin again. You have lost so much to the war. But there is more out there. More inside you." He tips her chin up to kiss her. "Are you crying again?"

Her smile wobbles. "I'm sorry. Considering Chiropterans drink blood, we should _cry_ blood too. But that'd be too clichéd, wouldn't it?"

"Ssh." He sips the tears from her eyelashes. She presses tight against him, wet skin all warm and pulsing. _Alive_.

"Haji, please promise you won't disappear. Not like after the Met. Promise me you won't make me suffer that again."

"Never, Saya. I will not leave unless you want me to."

She sobs out a laugh, the water rippling. "Right now, I-I want us to go someplace. Not forever. Just for a while. Somewhere with sunshine and beaches. And—a big bed. With room-service and lots of privacy."

"That sounds good."

"And we'll have a rule indoors. No shoes. Or...or clothes. No letting you stay more than a foot away from me."

He nuzzles her moist hair. "Even better."

Her lip trembles. Eyes round and bright with tears. "It _is_ better, when I'm with you. Everything is. I never imagined this. But it's happened. Maybe it's a sign? That—I dunno—I'm off the hook for what I've done. It sounds silly. But I-I want to make the most of it."

"We can do anything you wish, Saya. I do not want you to be unhappy again."

"I don't want _you_ unhappy either. Because I-I know how horrible I can be. How cut off from life. But while I have you, I'll always stay _in_ life. I'll always be _Saya_. The one who loves you."

Her aura has gone from black to pink. But he suspects she doesn't realize what she's said. The second time in one day, she's told him she loves him. Yet he is caught unawares all over again.

"Saya—"

But she is kissing him. Creating heated perfection in the space between them.

Of course there are still reams of things to be said. Reconciliations with the past, plans for the future. Bridges to be rebuilt between Saya and Life. Her family, her friends, Red Shield. All misplaced pieces to be reassembled. The world with all its demands and uncertainties will soon surround them. Clamoring for attention.

But for now, there is only the supercharged moment.

Breaking the kiss, Saya presses her mouth to his neck. Her voice, her breath and fangs, make him shiver.

"Haji. I know it's not easy living with the past. Not for you, or _me_. But while you're here, I'll never stop trying. I'll always remember who I am." Her gaze darkens. She gives him one of those blue-moon stunners he used to memorize for nights during the war. "Now get in here with me."

The tub is almost too narrow. But necessity is the mother of invention. Foamy water sloshes at the edges as he finds a place behind her. Skin on skin, chest to her back, mouth on her neck. His Chiropteran claw slips over her breasts; wet soapy hand tracing the inside of her thigh. Saya sighs—the soft sound reverberating off the tiles. Music to his ears.

Downstairs, a door slams open. Flurry of thudding footsteps. Kami, Sora, and Kai's voices.

"Saya? Hey? Where are you?"

Saya freezes. "Haji? Is the door locked?"

"I—"

Too late. More footsteps. A hand jiggling the knob.

A split-second later, the entire Miyagusuku household has the answer.


End file.
